


Blinded

by coldbrewcoffee



Series: Keep to the Stars [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, au in which cassandra is the sword butch we deserve, don't let the warnings scare you, slight canon divergence for convenience, the passage of time mechanics are in shambles, those are canon-compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-02-18 20:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldbrewcoffee/pseuds/coldbrewcoffee
Summary: "Constants, Inquisitor. There must always be constants in this tumultuous life we lead."Herah could already think of a few she had come to hold dear.***Inquisitor Adaar is getting close with Cassandra Pentaghast, but wonders if she might be open to something more. It's difficult to balance fighting a war and juggling with emotions, but Herah is learning to rely on constants to keep her from stumbling blindly into the unknown.***Check out the playlist here!(Romance playlist because I'm cheesy)





	1. Venture Forth

_ “There - it’s her!” _

__ “...You who stand before the gates,  
__ You who have followed me into the heart of evil,  
__ The fear of death is in your eyes; its hand is upon your throat.  
_ Raise your voices to the heavens! Remember:  
_ __ Not alone do we stand on the field of battle…”

Herah woke with a start, shivering. The fire in her chambers burned low, and she scrambled out of bed to reinvigorate the flames. Cassandra’s voice reciting the Chant of Light echoed in the back of her mind and she wondered at the second time dreaming about her; she had barely been conscious as the Seeker prayed over her in the frozen pass outside of Haven. Several times she came close to asking about it, or maybe thanking her, but could never find the words or the right moment. She shook away the thought and set about laying fresh logs onto what was left of the old to warm up her room, careful not to catch her broad, curling horns on the lip of the stone fireplace.

Since that night in the Frostbacks after Haven fell, Herah couldn’t bear the cold. It reminded her too much of the blizzard she stumbled through on the trail of the fleeing Inquisition and the chill that never seemed to leave her for days after she woke and began to recover. Even on warmer days among the snowy peaks, there was always a fire burning strong and bright in the Inquisitor’s chambers overlooking the formerly abandoned castle.

Skyhold was proving to be more of a home than anywhere Herah found herself before. The soaring mountains in every direction were a far cry indeed from the Storm Coast and the Free Marches, but here they were safer, Cullen assured her. He was certain that as their numbers grew and repairs were completed, Skyhold could become one of the most defensible headquarters for leagues around. She could only do her part to help rebuild and hope that he was right.

The glowing green Anchor in her left hand throbbed. It did that more and more these days, aching and pulsating like some new, foreign heart. Since the failed attempt to close the Breach, she had done her best to grit her teeth and work through the pain; no potions or salves helped much and eventually she learned to stop asking. It seemed the only way to have any peace, personal or otherwise, would be to close the Breach for good - something Herah knew was easier said than done. She sighed and clenched her fist.

Outside, she saw the sky lightening ever so slightly and began to dress. More sleep might have done her some good, but so could a sparring session or a head start on mapping her next moves for the coming weeks. The Western Approach seemed promising, with rumors of Venatori clusters and forts ripe for the taking - but then in the Hinterlands, loose ends remained in rifts, securing supplies for scouts and soldiers, and looking into a High Dragon. It would be a long trip east, she decided, before she would entangle herself and her party in the Western Approach.

Downstairs in the main hall, Herah seated herself next to Scout Harding. The two became fast friends after her arrival in the Hinterlands, and they met as often as possible to take a step away from their duties and pretend they didn’t have responsibilities. Herah liked Harding’s grim sense of humor out in the field, and looked forward to hearing her reports whenever she entered new areas.

“Morning,” Harding yawned, spreading butter over a slice of dark bread. “You look like hell.”

Herah grimaced. “Who doesn’t these days?”

“Fair point. Josephine was looking for you earlier, said something about Empress Celene?”

Nodding, she filled a plate with bread and fruit and took a cup of milk. “Best not keep her waiting. I’ll be leaving within the next couple days, for the Hinterlands. I could use some shooting practice.”

Harding saluted over her long drink of water. “I’ll be in the yard by the time you finish with Lady Montilyet,” she said when she finished, wiping her mouth. “And maybe awake.”

Mornings were always slow at Skyhold, even with all the work to be done. In the brief walk from the tables to Josephine’s office door, Herah saw cold, tired eyes everywhere and knew it wasn’t just from the early hour. The wounds from Haven were still raw: she heard it in the echoing prayers in the alcove with a statue of Andraste near the garden, saw it in the carts of bodies being wheeled away for burial or burning, felt it in the late nights she sometimes spent in the tavern. But she could also see healing in the songs coming from that same alcove, the steady decline of carts leaving Skyhold, and the nightly uptick in laughter and noise in the Herald’s Rest as time crawled on. If nothing else, there was still hope.

She found Josephine at her desk like always and wondered if she ever left it. A plate of half-eaten cheese and bread perched precariously on one corner, crowded out by uncharacteristically messy piles of papers, envelopes, and quills. The Lady herself looked disheveled and frantic as she tried in vain to sort through it all, dark eyes flicking from letter to letter in search of who knew what. When she finally noticed Herah, she dropped the stack in her hand and sighed, pressing her knuckles into her forehead.

“Please, Inquisitor, sit,” she said, gesturing at the chairs before her. “I did not mean to interrupt your morning.”

“I wanted an early start anyway,” Herah shrugged, taking a bite out of an apple.

“There is grave news from the Orlesian Empire. I was not able to secure an invitation to the Grand Masquerade; it seems we are not  _ important _ enough, we don’t hold enough  _ influence _ . It will take weeks of work to earn our way in!”

Before Josephine could continue, Herah held up her hand. “That’s what you do best, isn’t it? You write letters, earn favors, generate influence. It might take work, but I don’t doubt your skills, Josephine. I’ll do what I can in the field, too - there’s no shortage of opportunities out there.”

“For the Empress’s sake, I hope so. Here, take this list. These are people to look out for in your travels - with luck, they will hold enough sway to improve our chances before time runs out. And, Inquisitor - be safe. We will be waiting for you when you return.”

After she finished her breakfast and left for the training yard, Herah felt the same quiet fear she saw dawning in Josephine’s deep black eyes.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Maps and objectives in hand, Herah wound her way throughout Skyhold to gather her party for the upcoming expedition to the Hinterlands and the Western Approach. There would be stops back in Skyhold between each phase of the mission to garner influence while tying up some loose ends, but it would be a long and grueling trip nonetheless. She found herself once again humbled by the willingness of her friends to follow to the ends of the earth and back home again, all in the efforts of ending another war.

She sought out Sera first, climbing the stairs in the sparsely-occupied Herald’s Rest to find her only just then crawling out of bed. The elf blinked sleepily up at her and stifled a yawn before asking, “Time for another camping trip, yeah?”

Herah nodded, replying, “Afraid so. It’s a long one.” She went over the maps and list of nobles to impress with her, patiently pausing for every sleep-addled question. When she finished, Sera shrugged.

“More big people that don’t care about us little ones. Count me in, though. I’ve been itching to shoot something.”

“Excellent. Be ready at dawn.”

Sera’s grumbling faded as Herah thumped back down the stairs and came across Iron Bull walking in with Krem and a few of the other Chargers. “Early start?” she asked, nodding at Krem and giving Bull a pat on the arm.

“‘Course, Boss. Gotta stay nice and  _ loose. _ ” He laughed low and a little too long. Krem rolled his eyes. “You heading out soon?”

“Tomorrow.” She waved the papers in her hand. “Plenty of work to do. I was actually going to recruit you to come along, so don’t be too hungover at dawn tomorrow.”

Bull shuffled through the papers she handed to him and sniffed. “Sure thing, Boss. One thing though - the Bull doesn’t  _ get _ hungover.”

“Tell that to the barrel in your bedroom,” Krem quipped, dodging a swat at his head.

Cassandra was the last one she needed for the trip. Just behind the tavern, she was drilling like she did most days: on her own and with such a ferocity that one might have thought she was really in battle, if only in her eyes. Sweat shone on her scarred face and made her short black hair cling to her neck in small spirals; with every stroke of her chipped practice sword, she moved faster and struck harder.

Watching her reminded Herah of the first time they fought together - her in awe of the Seeker’s capability, the Seeker sharp and unforgiving in her mistrust of the future Inquisitor’s eagerness to fight with a bow. When the darkspawn came for them, all hesitation vanished and they worked together as if they’d had each others backs for years. She still remembered Cassandra’s reluctant acceptance of her cooperation, and how fervently she apologized later. It all felt like ages ago, before the Elder One and red lyrium.

Now they were friends, or near enough to it that it would be useless to try and find a more suitable word. Sometimes they sat together for meals; sought each other out after a particularly long day in the field; and, in a few rare instances, shared each other’s company when their dreams were not such friendly ones. Herah trusted Cassandra and felt that Cassandra trusted her, as much as she could - and didn’t blame her for any misgivings she still carried. Neither of them knew what to make of the image of a Qunari woman leaving the Fade, leaving behind a dead or dying Divine, so for Cassandra to maintain a certain level of distance was expected.

After some time, she finally sheathed her practice sword and took a moment to catch her breath before approaching Herah. As she walked she stripped herself of her leather armor, the suit Bull teasingly called her “casual wear” in place of her heavier Chantry armor; her cheeks were ruddy and her hands carried a slight tremor from the effort of her drills. Herah, leaning against the rough wooden wall of the tavern, smiled in greeting.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra huffed, dropping her armor at her feet. She nodded at the crumpled papers in Herah’s hand and set to unbuckling her greaves. “Those appear to be plans. When do we leave Skyhold?”

“I admire your efficiency,” Herah said. “You should tutor the others.”

“Hah! As if they would sit still long enough to hear a word I say.” She wiped her forehead with her forearm and continued working at the buckles. “What is our plan?”

“We leave at dawn. There are some things to tie up in the Hinterlands, aid for soldiers and all; and a visit to the Western Approach to get the lay of the land and investigate the Venatori.” Herah sighed. “A long trip. On top of it all, Josephine has asked that we look to generate influence wherever we can, so we can ensure an invitation to -”

“- to the Grand Masquerade.” Cassandra grimaced. “An affair I am not looking forward to being a part of.”

Herah raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean the affair of saving Empress Celene, or the affair of going to a ball in Orlais?”

“You should know me well enough to see the answer to that, Inquisitor. I am not fond of this  _ Great Game. _ I would much rather make my threats plain than disguise them in sideways looks and the wrong kind of wine.” The greaves finally surrendered, and she added them to the pile at her feet.

Of course Herah knew the answer. With Cassandra, there was always precision - in battle, in communication, even in tasks like armor and weapon maintenance - that didn’t necessarily mesh well with other walks of life. The hardened warrior was out of place at events like balls and feasts because she could not parry, could not slash, could not raise a shield to deflect insults as she might deflect arrows. Much like frivolity and “dirty work” was unbecoming to Madam Vivienne, the Great Game was just not Cassandra’s strength.

Herah nodded. “Fair point. But, I regret to say, I still need you there. I need everyone there, to show them the Inquisition is a force to be reckoned with. Even off the battlefield.”

Cassandra seemed to almost smile. “I want you to know that you are the only person that could convince me this will be worth it. If someone like Varric had come to me and told me I would have to play nice with puffy Orlesians, I think I would have throttled him.”

Thinking back to Hawke’s return, she shrugged. “You still might. Who’s to say?”

“So you  _ do _ know me, Inquisitor. I’ll see you at dawn.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Their work began at the crossroads. There they met Recruit Whittle, who marked apostate supply caches on Herah’s map; she could see the truth in his concern all around them as they spoke. Refugees huddled together in small clusters all over, staring at Herah’s party with wide, tired eyes and whispered like wind through summer leaves. Fear lay in a heavy fog amongst the hundreds of women, children, infirm, and elderly; seeping into the already blood-soaked ground at their feet. She shivered on their way out.

They passed by a campfire where armed refugees ate meager suppers and watched them warily while they passed. One with a bow at his back stood and came forward, saluting Herah when she stopped.

“Your Worship,” he said. “Our folks are starving. I heard you’re bringing back supplies. Might I ask a favor of you?”

She could feel her friends’ eyes on the back of her neck. “How can I help?” she asked.

“Blankets are well and fine, and we’ll appreciate them all the same, but we’re hurting for food, Y’Worship. It’s a good meal we need. There’s rams all in them woods - should you happen to bring down a couple in your travels, the meat would be well received here. If you find yourself some time for a hunt, Y’Worship.”

Herah nodded gravely, her chest aching. “I’ll do what I can. I’m sorry the times have been so unkind to you.”

The hunter scoffed. “Unkind to me? You’ve got the world looking up at you, screamin’ to be saved. We’re doing what we can.” He bowed and took his leave.

As they left the Crossroads, Cassandra caught up with her. “It was good of you to help,” she murmured. “In the grand scheme of the Inquisition, it is all too easy to lose sight of those left in the wake of war.”

“Yeah, Boss,” Bull chimed in. “Way to keep grounded.”

The first night they camped in the Hinterlands, just south of the Crossroads, one of the scouts confirmed reports of a High Dragon in the eastern region of the Fereldan territory near the Dusklight camp. Bull was thrilled, but Cassandra paled at his eagerness to take on the beast. Sera goaded him into pestering Herah to take it on, but she only promised to “look into it” - which really meant getting close enough to look without attacking. They weren’t in any shape to fight a dragon, much less kill it, and she didn’t want to risk their lives for a long shot at glory.

“We can investigate before we leave for Skyhold,” Herah begrudgingly allowed. “Right now we should focus on helping the refugees.”

Sera paused from digging in her pack. “Bloody madness,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “But  _ fun _ madness, yeah?”

Supper was the same quiet affair as every other first night in the field. Bull sharpened his axe between bites of stew; Sera sat with her bow across her feet, having postponed the task of re-stringing it until after her dessert of half-crushed cookies; and Herah sat with Cassandra, eating without comment until she noticed how full the Seeker’s bowl was, even after twenty minutes.

“Is everything alright?” Her voice was soft, always soft when she thought Cassandra might be troubled.

Cassandra sighed, stirring her stew in slow, lazy loops. “It is always hard,” she said slowly, “to see the side effects of… of ‘big people’s’ wars, as Sera would call it.” Her eyes were downcast and distant under the flickering light of the fire. “It reminds me that the consequences of our actions may not always be so apparent in the war room.”

Herah understood. The wounded eyes of the refugees had stayed with her all day, and watched her from the cracking, burning logs that gave the camp life. She hesitated, then lay a hand on her arm. It was warm, and she didn’t withdraw from the touch. “Let it be a reminder to do good. A reminder that war isn’t just figurines on a table and letters tied to a raven’s foot.”

“A wise suggestion, Inquisitor. Thank you.” The Seeker gave her a long, searching look. “You always seem to know just what to say, do you know that? I admire that none of this has yet made you hard to the world. It is a trait we should all try to embody more often.”

Dipping her head to hide the blush creeping up her neck, Herah smiled. “I’m glad of anything I can do to ease your troubles, Cassandra. I know times haven’t been easy for you - for anyone.” She gave Cassandra’s arm a squeeze and returned to her stew, trying not to think too hard about how the Seeker’s gaze lingered on the place where her fingers had been.

Herah started the next day early and led her party into the valleys to hunt. She and Sera did most of the work, the elf flanking each ram while she aimed at the front. Together they brought down four, until a roaming patrol of hostile templars interrupted their work; the fight was quick, but Bull came out of it with a deep cut on his leg and Cassandra bore a blossoming black eye. They passed around potions before deciding to move on to finding some supply caches before continuing their hunt.

Near Dwarfson’s pass, Herah’s Anchor sparked to life, interrupting her steady march south. Bull caught her when she stumbled, frowning, but didn’t say a word. They pushed on and the rift came into view as they crested a low hill.

It was a bitter fight. Twice she came close to collapsing, but downed potions between shots to keep her steady; when Sera cried out, pinned by two demons, Herah fired explosive arrows her way and tossed her one. She was only able to disrupt the rift once before more demons and ghouls fell upon them, but in the end won out and sealed the glowing green tear in the world. The sun hung low after their trek and following battle, so she declared the day over and established an official camp not far from where the rift had opened. Her band of scouts and officers that always followed were quick to set up the tables while she and her party raised the sturdy tents.

In her dreams, Herah again found herself with Cassandra, sitting next to a fire that blinded her to the darkness that lay beyond it. The Seeker was humming softly as if she didn’t know the other was there, cleaning her sword with swift sure strokes. Herah recognized the song from the Chantry but had no guess for its name.

She kept watching. The fire made shadows dance across Cassandra’s sharp face and glimmered in her ever watchful eyes. It only made sense, she supposed, that the gentlest hold she had ever seen by her broad, scarred hands would be in the maintenance of her prized blade. But she soon halted her work, eyes turned to her left arm. Movements slow and uncertain as a low tide, she brushed her fingers over the spot where Herah had touched her before, and she smiled.

The next day when she woke, Herah felt the echoes of a strange ache lingering in the back of her mind.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**


	2. The High Dragon

Cassandra bowed her head and closed her eyes.  _ Maker, _ she prayed,  _ guide me. Give me strength. Guide the Inquisition along the righteous path. Shield us from the encroaching darkness of Corypheus. Andraste, shine your light upon our cause and let the people see our truth, for it is in the name of your light that we act. Heal the wounds of the masses and protect them in the days to come. _

In the tent next to her, Herah mumbled in her sleep.  _ Maker, protect her. Keep her safe. For me - for us all. _

She knelt by her bedroll, hands clasped atop her thighs. Outside the dawn broke slowly, turning the inside of her tent a dull grey. The scouts were changing shifts and the others in the party would be waking soon, but she had been awake an hour already.

Cassandra Pentaghast had always been a private person.

When she knelt to pray, she always voiced her fears and worries to the Maker in silence. When she read her favorite books and poems, she did so out of the way of potentially prying eyes. When she walked through life, it was with a select few trusted friends and associates she knew she could count on to support and guide her. Few people challenged her barriers, and fewer still ever succeeded.

Leliana stood out the most among the shallow ranks of her personal relationships. The Left Hand of the Divine, though often at odds with her own beliefs and sometimes even morals, proved over the years to be her truest friend and confidant. When the duties of being a Seeker or the Right Hand of the Divine became too much to bear alone, she would seek out the seasoned spymaster and find comfort in her sharp wit and stubborn fortitude. Their shared faith and similar work found them in each other’s company relatively often, and it was always easy company. She might have even loved her, had she not already been claimed by the Hero of Ferelden.

Divine Justinia V, her mentor, her guiding light, was perhaps the person most difficult to remember - not for lack of memories, but for ones that remained being too painful. Her call to the Qunari woman at the Conclave haunted Cassandra’s dreams sometimes, obscuring happier times filled with the sweet incense of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and smaller Chantries they visited before the Breach rent apart the sky. But if she fought hard enough through the violence of that day, she could see herself years before on the night Justinia met her after Beatrix passed.

There was Anthony, always Anthony, but she could not bring herself to remember. Not here. Not now.

Cassandra Pentaghast had always been a private person. 

Befriending prisoners might as well have been blasphemy before the sky was torn open, but now it seemed to be a new source of warmth in the cold world of war. She couldn’t shake Herah from her thoughts, not since she lay her hand on her arm and told her that she cared. A simple gesture, but one that carried more power than any Old God could hope to harness, and more beckoning than the spires of glowing red lyrium cropping up like cursed fungus throughout Thedas. Her simple gesture had, for a time, driven back her fears, dark and roiling like distant storm clouds.

Some days, the fear was quiet in the back of her mind, simmering and almost invisible. Those were days when she could almost pretend the future was, in at least a few ways, hopeful. But there were also the days that fear clouded her sleep and made her dream terrible things, days when it was all she could do to face another morning. On those days, she turned to the Maker, casting her fears to the heavens in the hope He could hear her and would give her the strength to carry on. Sometimes she would spend hours in the Chantry, taking her work there and lighting a candle amongst the hundreds of others at the feet of Andraste. Her prayers and visits to the Chantry grounded her in her most dire hours.

Outside, the camp buzzed with nervous energy. They were to strike north again, heading for more supply caches and food for the refugees; it would be a hurried trek with brief pauses along the way, but none of the camp’s occupants looked forward to the journey. Cassandra didn’t blame them. The road was dangerous and just led to more peril, as did every road the Inquisition walked.

Herah looked most troubled of all. Dark circles haunted her pale grey eyes and she frequently flexed her left hand, seemingly trying to ease some discomfort. Did the Anchor hurt? The idea of the Inquisitor’s only chance against the Breach being a source of constant pain made Cassandra’s chest feel tight. Herah didn’t ask for this, didn’t pray to the Maker to be the Herald of Andraste. She often had to remind herself of that, especially when Herah grew quiet - hiding out in her chambers at Skyhold, slinking around on the battlements to avoid the crowds below, and burning candles all into the night doing Maker knew what instead of sleeping.

The Inquisitor’s words from the night before whispered through her mind.  _ I know times haven’t been easy for you - for anyone. _ It had only been a testament of friendship at the time, but now she wondered if, even if Herah didn’t realize, it was a personal testament as well. Cassandra resolved to offer her the same kindness.

Joining her by the requisition table, she announced her presence with a hand on Herah’s shoulder. “You out of all of us bear the most weight on your shoulders,” she said softly. “Do not allow others’ pain to obscure your own, Inquisitor. You are surrounded by many who care a great deal for you.” She let her hand slip down to the table, inches from the Inquisitor’s own. “Find me whenever you need to, and I shall do the same.”

Perhaps now she could count the Inquisitor among her most steadfast of friends. Perhaps the Inquisitor would be able to say the same about her. Perhaps she imagined it, but it seemed that Herah stayed closer to her than she might usually do on their first day’s march on the road north.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

“I don’t know about this, Bull. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, I don’t think we should take this on.”

In the distance, dragonlings screeched. The smell of smoke drifted in thick wafts from the mouth of the passage just beyond Dusklight Camp, carrying with it something the reminded Cassandra of meat -  _ Maker, don’t let that be what I think it is. _

“I have to agree, Inquisitor,” she said, rolling her shoulder to shift her armor. Even in the shade of the shallow canyon, she and the others were damp with sweat. “It is too dangerous.”

Herah shot her a thankful nod, but Bull just scoffed. “I’m calling druffalo shit,” he spat and put his hands on his hips. “You said we could  _ investigate. _ To me, that means actually seeing a dragon.”

“And if she sees us,” the Inquisitor retorted, “that means a fight. One we might not walk out of.”

Sera, who was using the tip of an arrow to clean under a fingernail, spoke up without shifting her gaze from her task. “Inky, you just don’t have any faith. I say we go for it, yeah? Imagine all the looks on those fancy lords’  _ faces  _ when we tell this story at the big ball! I bet more than a few would shit themselves at the first mention of  _ dragons _ , much less killing them.”

Bull held out his hands as if she had just solved the matter. “She has a point.”

Rubbing her face with a gloved hand, Herah sighed. “We go to the mouth of the cave. We stay  _ out of sight _ . We see the dragon, and we move on. Am I clear?”

He laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. “Alright, Boss, that’s what I like to hear.”

It all left a bitter taste in Cassandra’s mouth, and she said as much to Herah when Sera and Bull went off to prepare their weapons for the worst. “Why did you agree?” she asked, trying to keep the incredulousness out of her voice and focus on the genuine curiosity instead.

“I won’t make it as a leader if I don’t know how to compromise with my associates,” the Inquisitor explained, although begrudgingly so. “I suppose I consider this a self-taught lesson.” She glanced over her shoulder at the passage to the dragon’s territory. “I just hope this lesson doesn’t get us killed.”

Cassandra frowned. “I do not doubt your leadership, Inquisitor. But for all our sakes, I hope Bull can settle with just  _ looking. _ ”

They left an hour later, picking their way down through the brief passage and following the sunlight that lay ahead. The smell of smoke and burned flesh was stronger here, and they all pulled up the scarves provided by the camp’s officers over their mouths and noses.

At the mouth of the natural corridor, they came upon a sight both wondrous and terrible. Fires burned everywhere and the bones of dozens of creatures littered the ground; wagons had been decimated, tents destroyed, and people incinerated by the High Dragon’s fiery breath. Dragonlings infested the entire clearing like oversized, scaly rats with deadly breath, but so far didn’t take notice of the intruding party.

It took one look at Bull to know he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a look. His eyes burned as bright as the destruction before them, but he let Herah lead - for now. She crept out of the passage and out into the open, bow ready to fire at dragonlings that strayed too close. They followed just as slowly, Cassandra loosening her sword in its scabbard and slipping her shield over her arm.

The unmistakable sound of giant wings taking flight suddenly tore the air apart and, at the sound of an approaching roar, they all froze in place. The sound bounced around the clearing and made it impossible to tell where its source might be and only got worse when the High Dragon screeched again. Cassandra scanned the horizon until a great horned head became visible over the far wall of the canyon.

“There,” she whispered, and the High Dragon was upon them.

The beast soared overhead, knocking loose an avalanche of rocks from the column a few dozen yards ahead. Unfazed, she circled twice before unhinging her jaws and unleashing a ball of fire from her throat. Herah screamed to take cover before the blast of heat swallowed any other shouts she might have made.

When her ears stopped ringing, Cassandra slowly peeked out from behind a scorched boulder. “Is everyone alright?” she called, and received three affirmations in response.

“No one’s hurt,” Herah reported, “somehow. We should get back to camp before -”

“ _ Shite! _ Baby dragon-things on me!”

Before anyone could think to run, they were surrounded.

A near half-dozen dragonlings circled the party, hissing and coughing out spouts of yellow fire. Their mother circled but didn’t attack. Bull struck first, swinging his axe with a thundering roar and dealing a deep gash to the creature in front of him. From that moment, it was all-out war.

Cassandra downed two before being pinned by another against the wall of the clearing. Arrows from Sera came whistling to her aid, freeing her to leap in front of Herah with her shield raised just before her adversary could scorch her. Together they gave it a swift end, Herah finishing the job with an arrow to its gangly neck. As its screeches subsided, Cassandra and the Inquisitor rushed to help Bull fight the biggest of the litter.

This one was the most ferocious thing Cassandra had ever fought. It wound itself against her swipes with the sword and easily darted past Bull’s axe, but ultimately backed itself into a corner. By the time she finally managed to take off its head, it was riddled with arrows and drenched in steaming blood. For the moment, the clearing was quiet, and the party took a moment to regroup.

Herah sported a nasty burn on one arm, Sera was scraped up from a fall, and Bull and Cassandra both bore the marks of the dragonlings’ razor-sharp teeth. The cuts felt like  _ fire _ , like someone held a dozen tiny torches to her skin; everyone else looked about as well as she felt. Their breathing was ragged as they wordlessly marched back to camp, the High Dragon nowhere to be seen in the bright noon sky.

When Cassandra retired to her tent all bandaged up and nursing her sore arms and hands, she heard shouting from near the fire. Herah’s voice rang out sharp and clear as lightning, Bull’s deeper tones thundering after each strike.

“- if you go after that thing, I swear I’ll kill you myself -”

“I’d love to see you try, Vashoth!” he roared.

“I  _ tried _ to warn you, Bull! So help me if  wake up to find you in that clearing -”

“What will you do? What will you do, O Mighty Inquisitor?”

She burst through the flaps of her tent just in time to see Herah storming away, her face ruddy with anger and dried blood. Bull stretched his arms and  _ laughed. _

“Oh, you know a battle will be good when your boss gets heated about it,” he said, winking at Cassandra.

“There will not  _ be  _ a battle,” she replied. “The Inquisitor has given us this order. You would do well to at least follow  _ that _ one.”

Of course, he didn’t. Of course, Cassandra woke to the Inquisitor telling her to don her armor and bring extra potions.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Cassandra trailed behind the Inquisitor, hiding a yawn behind her gloved hand. Sera mumbled grumpily behind her, struggling to comb her fingers through her tangled yellow hair. Herah was silent, but the white-knuckled grip she kept on her bow spoke volumes.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said carefully, “are we about to -”

“We’re about to be killed by a  _ bloody _ High dragon,” Sera spat, and the Seeker shot her a dirty look. “Well, we are.”

Herah never answered. She wondered what was going through the Inquisitor’s mind; probably curses. Cassandra couldn’t blame her if that were the case; had she not been so tired, she would have strangled the Bull herself for putting them in danger.

To everyone’s surprise, the Iron Bull wasn’t actually fighting the High Dragon; instead, he crouched low behind the cave’s exit, his eye wide with wonder. Across the clearing, the yellow creature was tearing into a dead ram and tossing scraps to her squabbling dragonlings. By the light of the full moon, it was almost a peaceful scene - a mother tending to her children watched by a group of curious onlookers.

Cassandra’s thoughts flashed to Anthony. Would he have hesitated? She hoped so.

“Bull.” Herah’s voice was a low growl. She shivered.

The hulking Qunari stood quickly, hands raised. “Not fighting,” he insisted, “just looking, Boss. You didn’t say I couldn’t look.”

“Shhh!” hissed Sera, who palmed anxiously at her bow. “Don’t make so much noise! I don’t want to be baby food.”

“Back to camp.  _ Now. _ ”

If Cassandra had been on the receiving end of those orders, she would have followed them without hesitation. But the glimmer in Bull’s eye sent hot spikes of fear down her back as he said, “Come on, Boss, a few more -”

“I  _ said  _ -”

It was too much. The High Dragon, Maker save them, the High Dragon heard Herah’s unfinished command in the still of the night and shrieked long and high. Bull shouted and  _ charged _ , Herah following with her teeth bared in a snarl usually reserved for their most stubborn foes. Cassandra could only feel shock, and maybe some fear as they followed the dragon to another clearing beyond the first small canyon.

“Maker’s breath,” she gasped. She was bigger than Cassandra would have believed, towering over them with an endless neck and long, meaty legs tipped with claws the size of Bull’s horns, which was saying something. Heat washed over the party as she unleashed a spout of fire into the cool night air with a roar.

“Shite, shite,  _ shite _ ,” Sera yelled, scrambling to find a vantage point. Herah did the same at the opposite end of the clearing, while Bull and Cassandra paired up to face the dragon head on. He tossed his axe from hand to hand, grinning over at her.

“You ready for the fight of your life?” he said, punctuating the question with an exhilarated laugh.

Cassandra wished she could share his fervor for battle;  _ now _ she was angry. “If that thing does not kill you, the Inquisitor will. If neither of them kill you,  _ I  _ will.” And damn him, he only laughed again. There was no time for another threat before the dragon was on them.

The onslaught was instant. Cassandra barely had time to thrust up her shield to keep from losing her hair to a blast of white-hot fire that roared over her. Arrows whistled overhead, Bull was already swinging at the dragon’s legs; with a bellow, she marched forward and joined the fray. Her world shrunk down to whichever huge yellow leg she could reach with her sword and, every few minutes, the back of her shield as fire rained down on her. Cut after cut, strike after strike - did this thing never tire?

A pained yell distracted her. Herah knelt at her vantage point, cradling a burned arm. Pausing long enough to back away from the dragon, Cassandra moved her way and whistled. “Take this!” she called, tossing a healing potion up onto the rocky ledge.

Herah caught it and downed it in one gulp. “We have to be getting close!” she cried, standing and taking aim. “Let’s finish this!”

_ Oh, Maker, let it be true. _

Though the High Dragon moved like a giant, fire-breathing cat with wings, it was easy to pin it back against an overhang long and low enough to keep it from leaping or taking flight. They realized the double edge of this sword, however, when the beast began beating her wings to create a whirlwind that yanked Cassandra and Bull right up to her waiting claws and teeth. Sera and Herah, far enough out of range to escape the pull, both leapt from their respective ledges and sprinted over to help.

Everything blurred as she focused on fighting. She called out taunts, drove herself as hard as she could against the dragon’s impossibly tough hide, sliced at toes, at joints, at anything that might make the beast stumble. Steaming blood ran down her face and arms, seeping between the chinks of her armor and scalding her skin like hot water might. The taste of it reminded her, perhaps foolishly, of those dreadful peppers Sera once snuck into her stew back at Skyhold.

Their progress was slow, but it was progress nonetheless. The High Dragon wasn’t spouting fire as often, her bites seemed half-hearted, and her tail swung weakly behind her. But with one final shake of her horned head, she knocked Bull, Herah, and Sera to the ground. In her pause to gather another fireball she arched her head upward, exposing the underside of her long neck. Cassandra could barely feel her body as she gave her loudest ever battlecry and charged forward, sword raised high.

The High Dragon’s last screech died in a fit of gargles and coughs as the point of Cassandra’s sword rent open her throat, sending a shower of boiling blood down over the beaten and burned party. With a crash of horns against stone and an earth-shaking  _ thump _ , the dragon finally fell.

Heart pounding, she sheathed her sword and strapped her shield to her back. Andraste herself couldn’t have prepared her to hear the Inquisitor  _ laughing _ . When she whirled around, Herah’s fist was in the air, still holding her bow. Even Bull had the decency to look surprised, but quickly joined in her revelry.

“ _ Ugh _ ,” Cassandra groaned, earning a laugh even from Sera; but secretly, she was just as proud to have killed a High Dragon as the others. Oddly, it made her feel closer to her lost brother; she wondered if he could see her from the Maker’s side.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**


	3. The Anchor, pt. 1

Herah hated snow. She despised it with every fiber of her being, for it reminded her of the days she spent catching up with the Inquisition after Haven fell. It reminded her of every part of her body  _ burning _ , nobody ever talked about the cold burning when it crept into skin and bone. Upon approaching the Frostbacks for their return to Skyhold, it was all she could do to keep the memories of the blizzard at bay.

When they camped, she spent as much time as possible by the fire, clutching her hands together to hide how hard they shivered. Maybe she didn’t need to bundle up so much, maybe she didn’t need to sleep fully clothed and sweating, but it was better than being cold and dreaming about getting caught in an endless snow storm.

It was a relief, then, when the party finally crossed the bridge and marched into the main yard. Harding waited for her by the tavern and greeted her with a firm handshake.

“Drinks tonight?” she asked, and all Herah had to do was nod. “I’ll see you at sunset.”

In the castle hall, two of the advisors awaited at the door to Josephine’s office, Cullen with his arms crossed and Leliana’s face obscured by her hood; Josephine must have been at her desk. Herah looked around; some of the scaffolds had been taken down, and some Inquisition heraldry decorated the high stone walls. The rubble around the throne was gone, and a hole above the main entrance was sealed. Courtiers and soldiers alike milled around, filling the hall with a low rumble of mingling conversations. She nodded in greeting as she approached Leliana and Cullen.

Leliana looked up. “How was your trip?”

Herah shrugged. “We killed a dragon. That was fun.”

Bull barked out a laugh. “And to think, you wanted to kick my ass for it before we actually took her down.” Sera giggled.

“Shall we?” Cullen asked, and Herah left her party behind for the war room.

Josephine joined them on the way, greeting Herah with a smile that she gladly returned. “I am glad to see you home safe,” said the ambassador, holding the door to the war room for her.

“Me, too,” Herah replied. “I wasn’t so sure I would make it when we fought that dragon. Cassandra should get the glory, though. She struck the final blow.” Another instance of someone saving her life; she told herself she would have to become more self-sufficient.

“A massive victory indeed, Inquisitor. You have all the nobles talking already.”

“Ha!” Cullen laughed. “Who knew our ticket to the ball would be a few dragon skulls.”

Josephine frowned. “That… is almost an idea worth considering. If dragons weren’t so deadly, of course.” She winked at Herah.

The Inquisitor smiled before resting her hands on the table, scanning the map. Without looking up she asked, “Leliana, any word on that Warden in Crestwood?”

“No, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, “not yet. We should have his location upon your return from the Western Approach.”

“Cullen, any reports?”

The room turned somber in the wake of his answer. “The memorial at Haven is complete, Your Worship. Despite the circumstances, morale was high upon finishing it. Our builders are returning within the week.” He hesitated. “Will you be travelling to visit soon, Your Worship?”

Herah stared at the table, her chest suddenly tight. She knew she should, but wasn’t certain she could face it just yet. “Perhaps soon,” she murmured. “Just… not now.”

“Of course, Your Worship.”

Josephine, Maker bless her, spoke up. “Is there anything we can attend to while you are away, Inquisitor?”

Pointing at the figures sitting over Hinterland, Herah nodded. “We should gather onyx for new arrowheads. When that’s done, see what kind of herbs you can pull up - I overheard some healers mentioning a shortage of embrium. That should do for while I’m away.”

“At once, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “I’ll send some men at dawn.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else I need to know? No more cataclysms that we need to dodge?”

Leliana chuckled. “Not yet, Inquisitor. Just the ones we’ve already heard about.” She looked at Cullen. “Commander, if I might have a word about sending my agents with yours?”

“Of course. Please, after you.”

Josephine walked Herah to the door of her office leading to the main hall. “Be safe in the Western Approach,” she said softly, eyes dark with worry. “I have heard it is a cruel place.”

Herah rolled her shoulders. “That sandbox doesn’t stand a chance against me.” She smiled and opened the door. “Hold down the fort, Josie.”

That evening in the Herald’s Rest, Herah found Harding in a quiet corner of the tavern with cups of wine and bowls of stew for each of them. She smiled when she saw the Inquisitor, waving from across the warm, hazy room to beckon her over. It was crowded, Chargers and mages and soldiers packed into tables four and five at a time to make room. Bull sat in his usual place by the back window, and Sera perched on the second floor railing dropping walnuts into Krem’s ale every time he set it down. At the bar, Varric sat as far away from Cassandra as possible, but she was too ensconced in a report to even notice his presence.

_ This _ was the Inquisition, Herah reflected, watching friends catch up after weeks apart on separate missions and listening to siblings argue over whose turn it was to write home to Mother and Father. One of the Chargers was playing cards with a mage while a former templar looked on in bemused silence, all prejudices left behind in favor of companionship in hard times.

As Herah sat down, Harding slid her one of the cups. “Your favorite sweet red,” she grinned, digging in. “When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Herah sighed after a long sip of wine. “I take it you and your scouts leave at dawn?”

“We do. There are already a few out in the field, but someone’s gotta be there to review the reports before you go running in. You’re heading for Crestwood once the reports come in, right?”

She nodded, not feeling up to saying much. Herah always went into a daze making decisions at the war table, almost as if the voice in her throat belonged to someone that actually knew what to do. Leading the Inquisition was like herding ten thousand cats in the snow, or the rain, or a forest - unending, exhausting, and sometimes downright terrifying.

Harding caught on. “Hey… is everything alright? You seem kind of down for someone that just took down a High Dragon.”

Running her finger around the rim of her cup, Herah shook her head. “I… I don’t know. Lace, can I ask you something?”

“Wow, first name, huh? Something must be really eating you up. Shoot.”

“You’re out in the field all the time - you get to see the Inquisition’s reach better than probably anyone. Am I - am I doing this right? Am I even close?”

Harding took the Inquisitor’s hand. “You are what Thedas needs,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with conviction. “I don’t say that because you’re my friend, I say that because you’re the Inquisitor. You’ve led us through terrors that no one ever even imagined before they happened, and you got us through them  _ alive. _ None of us would be here without you, Herah. The people - both within Skyhold and without - know your name, and they  _ trust it. _ I trust it. You must be doing something right.”

Herah could only hope that was true, but it made her feel better to hear it nonetheless. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Of course. Now, let’s get tipsy and see how long before someone starts a dirty song.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

“Maker take this sand,” Cassandra growled, emptying her boots for the third time that day. Herah laughed as she did the same and readjusted the linen scarf that covered half of her face.

“I don’t think the Golden City would have the same appeal if it looked like this,” she pointed out, nodding at the endlessly orange horizon. For miles in every direction, sand the color of sunset sprawled in burning hills and flats that never stayed the same for more than a few hours. In the distance she spotted ruins; in another direction a fort; and even further out to the north, a pair of enormous statues stood sentinel over… well, over  _ something. _

“Still. I have had it with sand up to my ankles.”

Herah plucked at the legs of her pants, fidgeting. “Wait until you take your clothes off at camp. Then you’ll know what ‘getting everywhere’ really means.”

“ _ Ugh. _ ” The disgusted noise was at odds with the small smile on the Seeker’s lips.

The party had stopped to rest halfway between camps, their destination only just preceding the Giant’s Staircase. Further out lay a fort full of Venatori - the perfect way to punctuate their first foray into this Blighted desert, Herah figured, thinking the Inquisition would benefit from having such a strong outpost in the west.  _ That _ should get Orlais’ attention, and if it didn’t, she might just have to crash the gates at the Grand Masquerade and arrest everyone that wasn’t Empress Celene.

Secretly, the intrigue of the Great Game excited Herah, as long as she didn’t think about how high the stakes were likely to be. Josephine spoke of Orlesian courts with such fondness one might never guess how full of vipers those glittering arrays of important people could be. It bewildered Herah that sometimes the fates of thousands could rest on the depth of a lady’s curtsy, or perhaps the openness of a comte’s body language as he complimented a duchess on her gardens. It bewildered her, and it frightened her, but it oddly appealed to her. It might even be fun someday, when the course of history wasn’t the collateral in exchange for a few hours in a palace.

But that was the future. Right now her goal was to make it to the second camp and prepare to take Griffon Wing Keep to the north. Harding warned her upon their arrival that the trip would be unforgiving whether they spent a week or a month in the putrid deserts, and she wanted to conclude their time there as quickly as possible.

“We should move on,” Herah announced, climbing back onto her horse. Her party followed suit, and they were off.

Cassandra caught up to her and rode with her for a while. Eventually, she said, “Inquisitor, I have a request. I understand the Inquisition has many mountains to climb, but…” She looked away; from the half of her face that Herah could see, the Seeker was clearly troubled.

“Whatever it is, I can see you think it important. If it’s important to you, Cassandra, it’s important to me.” Was it the sun, or did her face suddenly turn red?

“Thank you, Inquisitor. It is a matter of the Seekers. I fear some of their work has been left undone in their absence; rogue templars and mages remain free to wreak havoc. If we can spare the time…”

Herah nodded. “Of course. I understand. I’ll help however I can.” She knew the matter of the missing Seekers must weigh heavily on Cassandra’s shoulders. Cassandra had spoken several times of how much the organization meant to her, and even from the outside looking in, the rejection of the Inquisition by Lord Seeker Lucius had been troubling at the least, or jarring at the worst. Herah couldn’t begin to imagine just how painful it would have been for Cassandra.

The ride to camp was long and exhaustingly hot. Along the way they fought three quillbacks, each more vicious than the last, as well as fighting back packs of hyenas more bloodthirsty than an assassin after months without an assignment. The air shimmered as if they were actually underwater, distorting distant landmarks into ribbons of dark shadows. When the camp finally came into view, Herah sagged with relief in her saddle.

While they tied their horses next to a small, miraculous little pool of water, Herah went over the plan for their time in the Western Approach. “We ride north,” she said, looping the reins around the makeshift post. “Our target is Griffon Wing Keep, but I know there will be rifts and bandits and beasts along the way. It will be impossible to move as quickly as I would like, but I don’t want to wander, either, unless something demands resolution.”

“Understood, Boss,” Bull huffed as he hefted the saddle from his massive charger. “Make it snappy, but not  _ too _ snappy.”

“I like snappy,” Sera grumbled. “And I  _ hate  _ sand. You’re lucky I like you, too, Adaar.”

Cassandra looked up from her saddlebags, eyebrows raised. “We can get the job done or we can complain,” she said.

“I don’t mind a little complaining,” Herah replied. “It means we’re still alive to think things are stupid.”

“See, Seeker, she  _ gets _ it. Sometimes you just have to call things stupid to see another day to call  _ more _ things stupid.”

Night soon fell, and the Western Approach became a different world. The temperature dropped and the wind halted, making for an almost brisk evening under countless stars unhindered by clouds. Herah looked up at them often, marveling at their numbers and wondering if someone was looking down at her. At supper around a surprisingly welcome fire, she chose to sit next to Cassandra while they ate tough, bitter gurn meat seared black.

They were both quiet for a time before Herah decided to break the silence. “Can I ask you something, Cassandra?”

She looked over in surprise. “Me? I mean, yes - of course, Inquisitor.”

The question had been in her mind for some time now, since she rarely saw the Seeker outside of her armor or training clothes. “How do you like to relax? I know you must stop working at some point.”

Cassandra laughed quietly. “If one’s work never leaves their mind, do they ever truly stop working?” She paused. “I like to read in my spare time. It is nice to step away from the world, even for a moment.”

Herah shook her head. “I think that would just make me wish the world wasn’t one we need to step away from.”

“It does tend to make me wonder, yes.” She looked at Herah again, her gaze lingering longer this time. “What about you? How does the fearless leader spend her days away from the war table?”

“Ha… mostly sleeping. Sometimes writing letters to my friends in the Valo-Kas.” Turning the strip of gurn meat over in her fingers, she sighed. “I suppose I don’t feel right having time to myself. I end up finding ways to do more for the Inquisition instead.”

“We must find a way to remedy that, then. I cannot have the leader of the Inquisition burned out because she does not have a hobby.” Cassandra smiled. “Will you have more gurn?”

Herah wrinkled her nose. “Maker, no.”

That night, Herah tried to imagine Cassandra ensconced in a book; somehow, all she could envision were reports and maps. She wondered at what kind of books the Seeker might read until she drifted off to sleep.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

The further they ventured into the Western Approach, the more the Anchor pained Herah.

It started at the first camp. At the beginning she thought it was just the nearby Rift, but even days after she sealed it, the glowing green mark on her hand throbbed as it did the day she received it. Sleep became harder to reach, and when she woke, her entire forearm felt fevered to the touch. When she asked a healer to take a look at it as the others slept, he proclaimed no signs of infection or other disturbance, and suggested it might be sensitive to heat.

Days dragged on, and “sensitive” became an understatement.

Herah did everything she knew to stifle the pain - wrapping the linens under her leather bowman’s gloves tighter, massaging the burning skin, and occasionally asking a healer to cast a thin layer of frost over the linens in an attempt to soothe the heat. For a while it all worked, but there were no healers between camps, and there was little time to pause for a massage during a fight against raiders and Rifts.

It was a relief, then, when Herah and her companions took Griffon Wing Keep. The battle lasted a surprisingly short while, with most of the Venatori fleeing to the northeast once they realized their fight was lost. What injuries they did incur were easily healed with potions, leaving them to send word to the Inquisition that their newest foothold in the West was available for occupation. Their forces occupied the fort completely within three weeks, slowing from a river of soldiers to a sputtering trickle. With them came a plethora of new problems, many that couldn’t wait - darkspawn in the flats, poisoned water, and a toxic wasteland blocking off a significant chunk of the Western Approach’s terrain. Herah begrudgingly agreed to stay and help, trying to remind herself that every fortress they occupied was just as important as Skyhold; they built a network vital to the Inquisition’s survival. All the while, she could barely hide the agony boiling in her left hand.

Work began underneath the fort, where several Venatori corpses polluted the well. Herah gagged upon entering the well through a cave at the rear of Griffon WIng Keep, hearing similar sounds of disgust from her companions as they followed her inside. She turned to a scout and told her to immediately write to Cullen to request orders for the soldiers to scope out a new source of water and left the well in all haste, unable to bear the stench any longer. More resolute soldiers would come down to burn the bodies that night.

The rest of the day took them out into the flats, where they followed clusters of Darkspawn for hours, cutting and shooting and blasting their way through ranks of hammer-wielding monsters until a great yellow pit stood between them and the apparent source. Scouts erected an Inquisition marker, and Herah had one more thing to write home about as they trudged back to the fort. She was pleased to at least kill two birds with one stone - making a path through the poison pit would allow access to Venatori branches as well as make the fort safer.

That evening, the pain peaked to a near-blinding agony. The burning woke her from an already shallow sleep, and Herah bolted from her tent to find the nearest mage and washing barrel. He kept the water cold as she plunged her arm, clothes and all, into the depths, sighing a shaky breath of relief as some of the pain receded. Tears, unbidden and unwelcome, streamed from her eyes and she tasted blood from biting down on her lip.

“Is it infected, Y’Worship?” asked the mage. “I can call for a healer.”

“No,” Herah grunted, flexing her fingers in the icy water. “It just… hurts.”

“Inquisitor…?”

Whipping around, Herah was stunned and, frankly, embarrassed to see Cassandra standing there in her off-duty linens. Her brow was furrowed and the concern on her face only grew as she walked closer.

“Hello, Cassandra,” Herah replied, the strain in her voice erasing any chance at a casual greeting. “Lovely evening. The stars are really -”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra repeated softly, her eyes finally falling on Herah’s submerged Anchor. “It… does it really cause you so much pain?”

She shrugged, her cheeks hot. “You know, I hardly notice it.” Cassandra was clearly unconvinced - was it the sweat running down her face or the mage holding a hand surrounded by flakes of snow over the barrel?

“You always say it never troubles you, Inquisitor. Is there nothing to help with the pain?”

Looking down, Herah shook her head. “Nothing that wouldn’t start an addiction. I would have to take healing potions so frequently…”

In truth, it shamed her to be seen this way. The Inquisitor was supposed to be the steadfast protector of Thedas, and here she was cowering by a washing barrel because her hand ached more than usual. She couldn’t believe word hadn’t spread to Val Royeaux yet, but didn’t want to imagine what would happen if it did. Just picturing the look on Josephine’s face when news broke of this weakness was enough to make Herah feel sick.

When she looked back up, the look on Cassandra’s face had hardened from worry into something like determination - but to do what?

“What can I do to help?” she asked, her mouth set so solidly Herah figured her lips could crush a mountain between them. “You are my friend, and I will not be idle while you suffer.”

Herah smiled. It made her chest feel warm to hear Cassandra call her a friend, but there was nothing  _ to _ do. She told the Seeker as much and added, “Thank you, Cassandra. I will manage.”

Cassandra placed her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but that answer is unacceptable. There must be  _ something _ -”

“Believe me,” she interrupted, “I wish there was. I’ve talked to healers at nearly every Inquisition encampment. Apostate, Circle mage, it makes no matter - the answer is the same: ‘ _ I don’t know. _ ’ And unless Corypheus takes it, the Anchor is mine to bear. I would rather have a sore hand than face Corypheus with this power.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**


	4. The Anchor, pt. 2

“ _ I’m sorry, Cassandra. The Anchor and the Breach are too new. No one my agents contacted had any answers. What I can give you is my word on their discretion. _ __  
_ Maker watch over you. _ _  
_ __ -Leliana”

“I hope that does not mean you took their tongues,” Cassandra sighed, scribbling a quick reply to thank Leliana and let her know they were returning to Skyhold soon. They had arrived at the first Western Approach camp several days ago, and in advance she told Leliana to send her response there.

Letter in hand, Cassandra left her tent and strode to the makeshift rookery - a corner of the camp lined with cages smelling of foul droppings and the morning’s feed. A bird keeper helped her attach the letter before sending the bird on its way east. With a resigned sigh, she went to the remains of last night’s fire for breakfast.

The look of pained embarrassment on the Inquisitor’s face haunted her still. Cassandra couldn’t begin to imagine just how painful the Anchor must be to bring her to such distress, but could guess that the heat of the Western Approach only agitated it more. In the weeks they spent crossing the desert to make way to Skyhold, Herah had been withdrawn and seldom open to company; was she angry at Cassandra for seeing her that way? Or perhaps at herself for allowing someone to see her that way - that made more sense, she decided. It only made her chest ache worse.

“You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes without eating a bite.”

Cassandra jumped. The Iron Bull was next to her, tearing into a loaf of bread the size of her own head. Her own bread was, as he pointed out, untouched on the plate in her lap. She picked up a piece of cheese instead and began to eat.

“Something’s up, Seeker,” Bull continued, mumbling around a mouthful. “You haven’t looked this moody since the Boss sided up with the mages at Redcliffe.”

“It is none of your concern,” she said, but not with as much venom as she would have liked. “In truth, I am not entirely sure if it is any of  _ my _ concern.”

“I saw you sending a letter just now. It looked pretty serious.” He put down his plate, and Cassandra saw something she didn’t expect on his face: genuine worry. “Is it family business?”

“No. It... “ She sighed. “It is a private matter with the Inquisitor. I would rather not discuss it.” The last thing she wanted was to disturb Herah any further by airing her business around for the entire camp to hear, especially if Bull repeated it in his loud, booming voice that carried too far for her liking.

Finished with his bread, Bull pulled up a bag Cassandra hadn’t noticed. From it, he procured vials of oils and jars of powders all varying in color, a set of brushes, and a large stone mortar and pestle. “If you’re sure there’s nothing I can help with,” he shrugged. “I did notice she’s been quiet lately.”

“Yes. I fear there is something troubling her that cannot be cut down or filled with arrows.” She took a long drink of water and nodded at Bull’s supplies. “I did not take you for an artist. Where is your canvas?”

“Ha!” He thumped a fist against his broad chest. “Right here, Seeker. This is  _ Vitaar _ , a kind of Qunari armor. I usually mix it in my tent, but breakfast was more important today. So, I took it out here. Surely you’ve seen it before? Boss and I both use it.” As he spoke, he tipped a deep blue powder into the mortar and added something that looked like flour, giving it a stir with his finger.

Cassandra did remember seeing the Inquisitor occasionally sporting painted stripes or contours on her face, but took it only for ceremonial decoration. “You say it is like armor, but it is merely paint,” she said. “How can this be?”

Bull picked up a vial with a clear oil in it. “Poison,” he said simply. “Mixed with - this -” He pulled another vial from the bag, this one full of something that looked like - Maker, was that  _ blood _ ? “- the Vitaar acts as a kind of ward. Makes the skin tough without having to sacrifice maneuverability.” He added a third of the vial to the powder and started mixing with the pestle. The resulting paste was a blue so dark it was almost black.

“Is that -”

“It’s… better if you don’t know.” He laughed. “Different powders and different poisons, or  _ qamek _ , render different advantages. They can make a slice with a sword cut twice as deep, or keep out the chill of a mage’s ice magic -”

“Wait,” Cassandra interrupted, something stirring in the back of her mind. “You said the Vitaar can resist cold? Can it protect against heat?”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Seeker, you should know. Vitaar poisons anyone that doesn’t have grey skin. I know the desert is hot, but shit, even I’m not complaining!”

“It’s not for me,” she snapped. “It’s for…” Sighing, she looked around to make sure no one would hear besides Bull. “It’s for the Inquisitor.”

Pausing, Bull looked over at Cassandra, eye narrowed. “What’s going on, Seeker? Is she alright?”

Cassandra wrung her hands. “We should discuss this in private, Bull. I think I need your help.”

In Bull’s tent that was twice as tall as her own, Cassandra explained the situation from the beginning - how the Anchor pained the Inquisitor, how she’d tried to hide it and her efforts to solve the problem on her own, and Cassandra’s own fruitless attempts at finding a solution. Bull listened with a rare somber seriousness on his face, asking a question or two before pulling out a quill and paper.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Surely you are not planning on telling anyone -”

“I can help,” Bull interrupted, “but I can’t help alone. I’m writing to Dorian to give him a list of supplies to have prepared by the time we get to Skyhold.”

“Dorian?! He has the loosest lips of us all!”

He laughed heartily. “And the prettiest, it’s true. But to make a heat resistant Vitaar, I need different ingredients, and some mage expertise. If we’re going to help the Inquisitor, we need to do it together.” Turning to Cassandra, Bull gave her a knowing look. “I know what’s at stake here, Seeker. I trust Dorian, even if he is Tevinter. And I appreciate that you trust me enough to ask for my help.” He gave her what was probably meant to be a light pat on the arm, but she still staggered backwards. “You’re not all shining armor and noble crusades, are ya, Seeker? You’re a big softie.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Bull,” she said quietly. “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

There was a strange look in his eye as he replied, “Trust me. You don’t have to.”

**⭘╳⭘**

In the Skyhold library, weak sunlight already dulled by clouds filtered through the window behind Dorian’s chair. The Iron Bull stood hunched over an array of ingredients on a cleared table while Cassandra watched Dorian pull some books from a shelf. They had been at it for more than an hour now, relying on Bull’s knowledge and Dorian’s research to tinker the recipe to account for heat resistance, a healing factor that might ease the pain, and a cooling agent to reduce the  strange fever of the Anchor. Bull kept insisting they were close; all she could do was hope he was right.

While Bull mixed their fourth or fifth attempt, this one imbued with spindleweed, elfroot, and a pale yellow poison, Dorian joined Cassandra and thumbed through a thick leather volume. “Quite a noble cause we have here. How did you find out about this?” he asked without looking up. “If you insist so much on secrecy, it makes no sense as to how  _ you _ became privy to the Inquisitor’s dilemma.”

Crossing her arms, Cassandra stared at the table without really seeing it. “I was not meant to,” she replied. “I happened to pass by her as she submerged her arm in water. She had a mage enchant it with ice.” Some part of her felt guilty for potentially crossing a boundary in her plan to try and help, but she knew she would feel worse if she stood by and allowed the Inquisitor to suffer. “When she saw me…”

“Of course.” His voice was soft. “Maker only knows what it must be like to have the one hope for the world literally in the palm of your hand, only to have it cause you agony just to bear it.” Agony was just the word for it - searing, tears-running-down-cheeks, embarrassing agony, from what Cassandra saw that night. “It’s good of you to pursue this, I think.  _ One _ of us has to look after her.”

An odd way to put it, but she supposed she understood. “I hope she will not be angry. This is clearly a sensitive matter for her, and… I would hate to upset her, even for a ‘noble cause’.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bull chimed in. “Have you seen the horns on her?” He finished mixing and showed them the burgundy paste. “Here we go. If this isn’t it, I don’t know how much closer we’ll be able to get.”

With that, he took a brush and applied a broad stripe running up his forearm. Taking his cue, Dorian flicked a small flame to life in the tips of his fingers and ran it up Bull’s ark barely an inch away from the skin. To their surprise, Bull didn't even flinch - instead he grinned, flexing his fingers.

“You couldn't feel it?” Dorian pressed, extinguishing the flame.

“Not a thing,” Bull laughed, his eye wide with wonder. “Shit, we  _ nailed _ it! You and I should get together like this more often.”

“So you can dirty up my space again? I don't think so. If we're to do this again, we're doing it in _ your _ quarters.”

“Enough,” Cassandra interjected. “You two can flirt after we help the Inquisitor. Bull, can you make a copy of the recipe and show her what patterns to use?”

“No. I'm going to show you. You're the one who started this. She doesn't have to know we were involved.”

She frowned. “But you both did most of the work. I only came to you with a problem.”

Dorian snapped his book shut and smiled. “Darling Cassandra, did you already forget our extensive discussion about discretion? The Inquisitor would appreciate thinking you didn't tell anyone, no doubt. But if she insists… well.” He winked. “What can be done?”

The Iron Bull motioned for Cassandra to come closer and began adding to the single stripe, talking as he went. “You'll have to wear gloves when you show her, and long sleeves. The Vitaar will bind to her skin once you finish applying it, and will be safe to the touch. But while it's still wet, it can kill you.” When he finished, the Vitaar stretched up to his elbow in stripes and swirled around his palm and fingers like painted ribbons. “Just like that. It should keep out the heat and ease the pain, at least make it bearable. It'll last a few days at a time, too.”

Cassandra took a deep breath, full of hope. “Thank you, Bull. And you, Dorian. I pray this will work.”

“We do, too.” Dorian put a hand on her shoulder, something she never would have allowed before she befriended him. “Keep an eye on her. Thedas will be ash and bone without her.”

Soon Cassandra left with a hefty jar of the Vitaar, a pair of thick but flexible gloves, and a set of brushes along with a copy of the recipe. The Inquisitor was away placing orders for her chambers and wouldn’t be back for a few days, so she returned to her own apartments in the armory and placed the supplies by her cot. When she turned to take her practice armor out of her chest, Leliana stood at the top of the stairs and leaned against the railing.

“Vitaar?” asked the Nightingale. “A clever solution. I wish I had thought of it.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I am surprised it worked. At least, against direct flames. I hope it is what Herah needs.”

“You care a great deal for her, Cassandra.” It wasn’t a question, but Cassandra would have said yes anyways. At first, when Herah was still bound at the wrists, she’d loathed her; but now, after watching her lead with kindness and compassion and humility, Cassandra could indeed say she cared for the Inquisitor. But so did half of Thedas, while the other half bore her just as much rancor for disturbing the balance even further.

She only said, “I suppose I do. We have become good friends, I think.”

“Be careful that it doesn’t get you hurt. I have seen what friendship can become during war... And what is left of it after.”

Frowning, Cassandra asked, “I do not think I understand, Leliana.”

There was a deep sadness in Leliana’s eyes as she turned to leave. “Beg the Maker that you never do, Seeker.”

**⭘╳⭘**

Cassandra climbed the steps to Herah’s chambers in the early morning, when the birds only just started singing and the sky was still pink with a slow sunrise. She knew the Inquisitor was awake; she’d spotted her on her balcony from the yard below and immediately fetched the bag carrying Bull’s custom Vitaar recipe. Her stomach fluttered with nervousness; she wanted with all her heart for this to be at least a partial solution, but feared the worst nonetheless. She could hardly breathe when she knocked on Herah’s door and waited for an answer.

“Come in,” Herah called, and Cassandra entered.

The Inquisitor stood from where she knelt next to the fire, and Cassandra took a moment to recover from the blast of heat that welcomed her. “Inquisitor,” she stammered, closing the door behind her. “Did you catch a chill in the night?”

Herah blushed, not meeting Cassandra’s gaze. “Yes, I… I must have.”

The moment of silence between them dragged on until she finally asked, “How was your trip?”

“It went well. I’m expecting new curtains.” She chuckled. “And people think being Inquisitor means non-stop epic battles and political intrigue. What can I do for you, Cassandra?”

Holding up the bag, she smiled. This was the moment of truth.  _ Maker, let this work. _ “I have something for you. A… a gift, I suppose.”

“Oh?” A half-smile broke out on her face, but she remained reserved. “Should I close my eyes?”

“Perhaps that would be best. And perhaps sit. And… trust me.”

“Cassandra,” Herah drawled, following her suggestions with a sly expression. “My, what  _ are  _ you up to? What would the people think?”

“Oh,  _ please _ .” She crossed the room to kneel in front of the Inquisitor and laid out her supplies, slipping on her gloves. “Cover your eyes and hold out your left arm. No matter what happens, no peeking.”

“Cover my eyes  _ and _ hold out my hand?”

“You have two hands.” Herah laughed, but again did what Cassandra asked. “Okay. I shall begin. Don’t look.”

She had never been good with proximity. Here, this close to the Inquisitor, Cassandra was more aware of her breathing and her movements than ever. She wondered if Herah could hear her heartbeat as it tore through her ribs, wondered if she could feel the tension in her shoulders as she worried if she was too close. And then when she took hold of her outstretched hand - holding it in a way that, for the first time, wasn’t hauling her up after a long fight - even though she wore gloves, it made Cassandra’s heart jump. She was so terrified to muck it up, but she pushed forward and rolled up the sleeve of Herah’s tunic.

The first stroke of Vitaar was shaky. Herah inhaled sharply in surprise, but upheld her end of the bargain and kept her eyes covered. As she progressed through the pattern, Cassandra’s hand grew steadier and the lines became clearer. It took a few minutes, especially with maneuvering the brush around Herah’s fingers while wearing gloves, but when she finally finished she couldn’t have been more pleased with the end result.

Before Herah even moved, the heaviest sigh of relief Cassandra ever heard slipped from between the Inquisitor’s lips. Her shoulders sagged visibly and the hand that covered her eyes clenched into a fist - was she angry?

No - she was  _ crying. _

Cassandra stood and stepped back. When Herah looked down at her painted hand she let out a choked sob, and that single sound shattered Cassandra’s heart into pieces.  _ Had it truly been so painful? Maker… Maker, I - _ The next thing she knew, she was wrapped up in Herah’s muscular embrace. She eagerly returned it, slipping her arms around to hold the Inquisitor as she cried.

When she regained her composure, Herah sat them both on the bed, still holding Cassandra’s hands in her own. “I don’t even know what to say,” she managed, staring down at the deep red markings. “As soon as you finished, it - it feels like it’s barely even there.” She sniffed. “ _ Vitaar _ . Of course Vitaar would be the answer, right under my nose.”

She was in shock. “Did it truly work?”

Herah nodded. “Here, it’s dry. You can touch it now.” She slipped one glove from Cassandra’s hand before she could do it herself and enveloped it in hers.

The Inquisitor spoke the truth. In a matter of moments the fever all but vanished from her skin and even almost felt cool to the touch. Cassandra felt tears prick her eyes as she whispered, “Maker…”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Cassandra. This… this is the most amazing thing. I… how did you come up with Vitaar?”

She thought back to Bull at the Western Approach camp. “It was the only place I hadn’t bothered to look.” Nodding to the bag still on the floor, she continued, “The recipe is in there, along with a stash of the ingredients. It should last days at a time, and I can show you how to re-apply the correct pattern yourself when it wears off.”

The Inquisitor bit her lip, trying to hold back more tears. “I owe you the world for this, Cassandra. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

_ This is enough _ , she thought, thinking of their hands still clasped together.  _ This is more than enough _ . But to Herah, she said, “Seeing you no longer in pain will suffice, Inquisitor. I could not bear to think of the suffering it caused you.” She squeezed her hands. “Please, Inq - Herah - I want you to know you can come to me for anything. Do not hide your pain so that you might bear others’. If you should ever need anything, I will be here, waiting always with open arms.”

Herah lifted Cassandra’s degloved hand and pressed her lips to her knuckles. “I will,” she murmured, her wide green eyes soft as she turned them back to Cassandra and released her hand. “I promise, I will.”

Cassandra went about the rest of her day in a haze. Reports and letters sat on her cot unread and unfinished, meals only half-eaten at the tavern and conversations only half-understood. As the activities dwindled down and she returned to the armory, she couldn’t hear much over her own thoughts; and when she climbed into bed at last, there was one thing that kept playing over and over in her head. Cassandra could not get the feeling of Herah’s kiss, soft and warm, to leave the skin on her knuckles.

**⭘╳⭘**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what are we thinking on the new format/longer chapters? let me know how i'm doing! thanks for reading! :)  
> EDIT January 16, 2018: another update is on the way, I promise! I've had to rearrange the outline a couple times due to some continuity issues between the original outline and the game, but now it's all set! see you soon!


	5. Constants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we're back! ....two weeks later. many apologies on that front, existing as of late has been. difficult. but! i'm back in the swing of things so let's do this! see you in the next chapter!

As Herah and her party - this time consisting of Dorian, Blackwall, and Cassandra while Bull and Sera rested - made their way north from the Emerald Graves, they soon encountered frost, ice, and snow. Leaving the pleasant green forests for the frozen Emprise du Lion was the hardest thing Herah had done in a long while, but the last of the unfinished Seeker contracts awaited them there; besides that, red Templars festered there, a ripe target while the Inquisition still searched for Hawke’s Warden in Crestwood and awaited word on the Winter Palace. Herah saw no reason to sit idle in Skyhold when she could be doing her work - the Herald’s work - so she left not long after their stay in the mountains to fill the gap.

She allowed herself to promise to return to the Emerald Graves when she could, though; everyone was entranced by the way the sun dappled through the leaves to cast its green light on the ground as if it shone through Chantry stained glass, with the way a soft breeze often stirred the leaves and made the light shift as if bent by crystals, and with the way giant roots stood as triumphant arches over ancient, bloodied ground. But now duty called them to the snow.

Always the damned snow.

Herah tried not to complain. None of the others knew why she sat so close to the fire or slept with so many blankets, why she shivered at the first sign of an unseasonal winter when the leaves on the trees gradually thinned the farther they traveled. They didn’t need to know; her fears were her own, unreasonable though they might be. She thought about telling Cassandra, though, but didn’t want her to worry about a silly thing like the proclaimed Herald of Andraste being afraid of  _ snowflakes. _

Cassandra was, though, almost like a fire of her own. The gift of the Vitaar on the Anchor, the war paint that miraculously made the pain all but disappear, still made Herah emotional if she dwelled on it too long. She had given up hope of finding a solution and almost kicked herself for not thinking of Vitaar, but felt an overwhelming warmth every time she remembered the sensation of Cassandra’s hands so tenderly decorating her own. Even through the gloves the Seeker wore to protect her skin, Herah felt the deliberation and care behind her movements, the absolute impossibility of being allowed to make a mistake.

At first she feared her response - the kiss on the knuckles that made Cassandra turn so delightfully pink - was too much, too far across boundaries that were yet unclear; but when Cassandra didn’t pull away and when her smile didn’t sour at the touch of Herah’s lips, she decided she would have done it again if she had to relive that moment. She would do it again, and again, and she didn’t know what that meant or if it made sense. But nothing made sense these days. So she left it at that.

They made camp just outside of Emprise du Lion when a light dusting of snow began to fall over the large clearing painted purple by dusk. The scouts accompanying them set up watch points around the perimeter and established patrols while Herah and the others pitched tents, raised tables, and built three large fires in the center of it all to keep some of the cold at bay. Buckets of water were collected from a nearby stream for the wash tent and cooking and drinking, with empty ones set out to collect snow; before long one of the fires was dedicated to roasting enough birds to feed two camps. Herah never ran out of things to appreciate from the Inquisition, but the efficiency of its hunters was near the top of the list whenever she went out into the field.

Cassandra joined Herah by the cookfire as the birds roasted, sighing deeply. “The cold is bracing, no?” she said, stretching out her long legs. “A shame that its cause is so… unsavory.”

Herah shook her head. “I can’t say I enjoy it either way. I’d rather be back in the Graves, or the Hinterlands.” She looked over at Cassandra. “We’re almost finished.”

“I know. It feels strange.” She hesitated. “I wonder if I might ask another favor, Inquisitor.” Her voice was soft, unintrusive. “If time and resources allow it, I would - I would like to find the remaining Seekers. I cannot abandon them.”

Sitting up straight, Herah turned to better face her. “Of course, Cassandra. I understand. They must have been like family to you.”

The way Cassandra’s voice cracked ever so slightly nearly shattered her right then and there. “They are,” she whispered before repeating, “I cannot abandon them. They would not have abandoned me.”

Herah lay a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “We’ll find them. And we’ll have answers from Lord Seeker Lucius.”

The moment they met Lucius, Herah distrusted him. She might have been slightly biased after seeing the betrayal on Cassandra’s face, but not much more than she was after hearing him pull the Templars out of Val Royeaux. Something about that man sent a slithery feeling down her back, as if an eel wound itself around her spine. Whatever he was up to would be bad news she could tell; she just hoped it wouldn’t be as catastrophic as everything else that had gone wrong so far.

Her thoughts turned again to Cassandra. She asked for help as if she was asking Herah to cut off her arm, but what Herah wished she would realize was that she would walk the ends of the earth to help her friends, and especially the Seeker. Cassandra was at her side at every turn - the Anchor, Haven, Redcliffe - and the Vitaar had crossed a point of no return. There was something between them now that was more than two people thrown together in times of war, something that settled in Herah’s chest as she watched the shadows dance on Cassandra’s face. Something permanent in a way Herah couldn’t begin to describe, but it reminded her of how she felt when she thought of her old ties to the Valo-Kas, her first and only home.

Wringing her hands and looking again at the fire, Herah sighed. “We should eat and get some rest. There are long days ahead of us.”

**⭘╳⭘**

Harding met the band of Inquisition forces at the eastern forward camp, bundled in furs and leathers. Four enormous fires burned throughout the broad spread of tents and tables but did little to ward the cold from the outer edges, where Herah and her companions lingered to receive the report on the area. The tidings were grim; red Templars had all but decimated the nearby village of Sahrnia, and their camps dotted the land as much a disease as the red lyrium itself. Harding’s voice became bitter when she mentioned the villagers held captive in the quarry, which was shadowed by the massive Suledin Keep to the south.

“It’s good you took the long way around,” Harding said as she lead them further into the camp. “You might have run head-first into the vipers’ nest.”

“Some of us appreciated it more than others,” Cassandra teased, and Herah had to fake a laugh and remind herself that she hadn’t exactly mentioned why the cold turned her so sour. “Has there been any word from Skyhold?”

“There has, Seeker. Leliana wrote that there’s still been little progress. Cullen added that if there’s anything the Inquisitor would like to take care of before handling the Wardens, now is the time. Oh, and Josephine sent cocoa. Lots of cocoa.” Herah knew Harding well enough to see it was more than the weather turning her cheeks pink.

“We are well supplied, then,” she said, leaning down to nudge Harding’s shoulder. “Thanks, Harding. We’ll rest here for the night and head out at first light to see how we can help in Sahrnia.”

Dorian rolled his shoulders. “Scout Harding, if you would be so kind as to show me the way to the cocoa. This cold has a dreadful habit of seeping through to the bone.”

Blackwall smirked, following him. “Maybe if you would cover your shoulders, you might stay warmer,” he suggested, laughing when Dorian shot him a dirty look. Herah smiled before making her way to the tent reserved for her.

Once inside, she almost started to refresh the Vitaar on her hand, but realized she wasn’t entirely sure on some of the patterns - she could probably guess, they were simple enough, but precision meant a lot in the way of Vitaar’s functionality. She would just have to have Cassandra show her again, since she couldn’t watch the first time. Yes, that changed everything. How could she expect to replicate a pattern she never saw through in the first place?

Making a note to ask Harding for extra furs, Herah gathered the jar and brush and found the Seeker by the largest fire. She scribbled out a letter with a cup of steaming cocoa beside her. “Cassandra,” she greeted, taking a seat on the side not occupied by the mug.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied with a small smile accompanying her glance away from the letter. “I just wanted to send word to Skyhold of our plans here. I will be done in a moment.”

“Please, take your time. It’s nice to be by a fire again.” Herah rubbed her gloved hands over her arms.

“And… done.” She signed with a flourish of her quill and set the letter aside to dry. When she noticed the supplies, she raised an eyebrow. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Laughing nervously, Herah nodded. “I was hoping you could remind me of how you applied the Vitaar. I did have my eyes closed, after all.”

“I suppose you did.” She blushed a bright red. “That may have been foolish on my part.”

“Nonsense. I found it charming.” Herah bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Perhaps a bit lacking in foresight.”

Cassandra sighed, shaking her head. “That always seems to be my downfall. Here. Take off your glove.”

This time, Herah had to make herself look at her hand while Cassandra worked; she found it hard to resist the look of concentration on the Seeker’s face as it furrowed her brows and pulled her lips together into a thin line. At one point she got caught, and Cassandra smiled, if not slightly confused.

“I thought you wanted to see the pattern,” she chided, pausing. “You can hardly learn it from watching my face and not my hands.”

“Sorry. You just look so serious.”

“This is a serious matter, no?” She squeezed Herah’s hand. “Eyes down here.” The mirth almost escaped her voice, and Herah bit back a giggle. “There. All finished.”

“Thank you, Cassandra. I think I have it now.” Truly, she did. Maybe she had from the beginning, but one could never be too certain.

“Of course, Inquisitor. But should you forget again…” She either didn’t feel the need to finish that sentence or didn’t lt herself finish - it was hard for Herah to tell behind the persistent red in her cheeks.

Herah adjusted her legs and set to closing up the jar and cleaning the brush. “We have time now,” she remarked, gathering snow from behind them in her hand and running it through the bristles. “I think after we finish here we can go after the missing Seekers.”

“It would mean a great deal to me.” Cassandra was quiet.

“It’s settled, then. I’ll send word ahead before we leave for Skyhold; maybe Josephine can get us a lead ready by the time we return.”

“As for here, Inquisitor, the final contract - according to my map, the rogue mage is not far from camp. We could resolve the matter tonight. I know we have been traveling all day, but it is a thought.”

Herah shrugged. “I don’t see why not. When can you be ready?” The heat of battle almost sounded promising compared to the chill that penetrated the camp.

“As soon as you can. I don’t see why we should bother the others.” Nodding, Cassandra showed her where Dorian and Blackwall dozed over their stews. “This will not take long.”

After returning her supplies to her tent and donning her light armor, Herah strung her bow and buckled on her quiver and trotted over to Harding, wanting to catch her before she left for Skyhold.

“Hey,” Harding said, straightening up from tying her walking boots. “Heard you’re heading out. Be safe out there, okay?”

“I will,” Herah assured her, then lowered her voice. “I wanted to ask a favor, Lace. A quiet one.”

They moved away from the noisy scouts, next to a tent that seemed yet to be claimed. “Of course. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, so far. I just wondered if there might be any leftover furs? I know we’re crowded, but… if by any chance -”

“ _ That’s _ your big secret favor?” Harding gave her a push. “Of course we have extra. Say no more, I’ll have one sent to your tent before I leave.”

Herah sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Thanks, Lace. I appreciate it.”

Harding frowned. “That’s twice you’ve called me that. You sure everything is okay, Herah?” She looked around. “Cassandra teased you about the cold earlier. Is it that?”

Looking down, she nodded. “I guess I’m just sensitive. Maybe it’s the Qunari in me.” Her smile was tight. “Thanks again, Harding. We can catch up at Skyhold.” That was their signal for  _ I can’t talk about this at camp, but I promise to tell you soon. _ They didn’t use it often, and Harding’s eyes only looked more worried when she heard it.

“Safe travels, Inquisitor.”

Cassandra had been right. Dispatching the rogue mage took almost no effort even without support from Blackwall and Dorian. The hardest part of their outing proved to be sneaking around the rift near their target’s camp, the ice underfoot slick and uneven making for an unsteady path across the river. Once they were blessedly out of earshot of the lurking demons and wisps, Herah slipped and fell right on her behind to the sudden laughter of her companion.

Herah only laughed harder when Cassandra fell too, and they sat like that for a long time, bathed in moonlight that reflected off the ice like the river was made of silver.

**⭘╳⭘**

When they got back to camp, they shed their armor and sat by a fire for supper. Cassandra seemed tense. Herah was about to ask her if all was well when she spoke herself, setting her stew on the log they shared and folding her hands in her lap.

“Forgive me,” she began, “but I overheard your conversation earlier… with Scout Harding. It is not my place, Inquisitor - Herah - but… is everything alright?” Staring at her hands, she added, “With the cold. You asked for an extra fur.”

Herah felt her stomach drop. This was the last thing she was prepared to talk about; she wasn’t sure she knew how to talk about it. “I…” She couldn’t find the words. But she wasn’t angry that Cassandra asked; not even disappointed. How could she explain it without sounding a coward or a fool? “It isn’t easy to explain.”

“If it’s alright, I would like you to try. Do you remember what I said about hiding your pain for our sake?” Cassandra took her stew from her and set it at her feet so she could take Herah’s hands into her own. They were rough and calloused, but gentle. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to tell me. But I ask because I worry. Harding mentioned the cold. Does it bother you?”

_ To the bone. It sinks into me like claws. _ “It does. It… reminds me of the mountains.” It wasn’t enough, she realized, as Cassandra looked up at her. “The Frostbacks, after Haven.” Her voice shook with each word, but she couldn’t stop the weight of them from crashing through her lips. “When I had to walk through the blizzard to find the Inquisition. I remember… I remember I couldn’t feel my legs, but they kept moving. I remember the ice on my face and on my horns. The way my hands went numb…”

The thought of it made her nauseous, but she kept talking, like how she forgot how to walk somewhere between Haven and the fleeing Inquisition but somehow kept moving anyways. “I’ve never known cold like that. Thigh-deep in snow with more piling around me. And the wind - I can’t believe it didn’t tear me to pieces. I thought I was dead when I fell. Now, the cold - this place -” She took a deep breath. “It just reminds me of that night. I’m afraid I’m back where I started, wandering through an impossible storm not knowing if I’ll live to see the end of it. I’m afraid it’s going to swallow me up.” Maybe she did know how to talk about it. Maybe she just didn’t want to. Herah shivered.

Cassandra was crying. “Herah… I had no idea. And here I was teasing - I’m so sorry, Herah. Had I known -”

The panic in her voice snapped Herah out of her haze. “No,” she said. “No, don’t say that. There was no way to know. You’re not at fault here, Cassandra.” Softening her voice, she took another breath. “I remember you calling out to me. I knew then I found my way. I think even if I died that day, I would have been okay knowing that.” The words surprised them both. Herah cleared her throat. “Thank you, Cassandra. I didn’t realize how much I needed to tell someone.” Before she could stop herself, she reached up and wiped a stray tear from the Seeker’s face.

After a heartbeat or two, Cassandra recovered - for the most part - and sniffed. “Please, if there is ever anything I can do. Let me know. I cannot imagine…” She shook her head. “Thank you for telling me.”

Dipping her head, Herah flashed a wicked smile. “I may just ask you to sleep in my bedroll to keep me warm,” she teased, and laughed at the bright shade of pink that fell over Cassandra’s face. She decided she liked seeing her blush.

“I can hardly think of what Dorian would say,” she said, sounding exasperated. “If you ask, do so in private.” Now they both laughed, and things were a little more relaxed.

Herah felt free then, despite everything. Telling Cassandra about her fear of the cold lifted a weight from her shoulders she didn’t realize she carried. Now she was free, at least freer than before, to carry on for the Inquisition and for Thedas. That was another weight on its own, she thought.

After supper, Herah got them cups of cocoa, ignoring Cassandra’s protests (“I already had some, I shouldn’t”) while Cassandra tossed more logs into their fire. Somehow they had it mostly to themselves save for a cluster of rangers on the other side, talking and laughing quietly among themselves. Herah thought Cassandra intimidated them, but then remembered she was nearly eight feet tall with horns that could maul if she angled them right. They were probably intimidated by them both.

She was halfway through her cocoa when she remembered something she had been meaning to ask Cassandra. “You said you like to read romance,” Herah said. “May I ask what specific romance you like to read?”

Cassandra frowned. “What made you think of that?” she asked, but gave in. “All sorts. Poetry, especially. I like to read love poems in my spare time.” Her mouth twisted. “Ugh. It sounds so foolish to say aloud.”

Herah disagreed. “No, I think it’s sweet. The Seeker tougher than steel with a soft, mushy inside. It’s straight out of a book.” She smiled. “You should get with Varric on that. He writes books, doesn’t he?”

“I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I collaborate with Varric on his next novel.” She wrapped her hands around her mug. “I should explain, it’s not just love poetry to me. It’s something to come home to, no matter what the day brings. It’s something I can rely on.”

“I don’t think I know what you mean.”

The Seeker looked up at her. “Constants, Inquisitor. There must always be constants in this tumultuous life we lead.”

Sitting there by the fire, next to Cassandra with just an empty bowl between them, Herah could already think of a few she had come to hold dear.

**⭘╳⭘**


	6. Growth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so fair warning: here there be (a bit of) canon divergence! in-game, the Missing Seekers quest is given AFTER Crestwood, but you see, i am not good at keeping track of these things and i didn't realize my mistake until it was too late. so pardon the discrepancy, but i am just really not about the whole "overhaul" it would take to set things right. i already did that once and it wasn't fun. so yeah. without further ado, chapter 6! thanks for reading and reviewing, it makes my heart happy. :)

Perhaps it was because of her conversation with the Inquisitor - she might just notice it more than she would have otherwise - but the Lion seemed especially bitter and cold while they carried out their mission against the red Templars. Herah led them through drifts of snow reaching up to their knees, cutting through rank after rank of corrupted Templars that hummed with dark energy as they fired their arrows and slashed with their tainted swords. Each fight was a new horror.

When she wasn’t elbow-deep in battle, Cassandra couldn’t stop herself from gnawing at the Inquisitor’s revelation from the forward camp. She cursed the cold as if she was the one slighted, angry that there was nothing she could do to ease the Inquisitor’s suffering. Herah didn’t deserve this. It was the look of shame that destroyed her, that night by the fire. Herah wouldn’t even meet her gaze, opting instead to stare at the fire as if it might melt the fear away; were that the case, Cassandra would have lit a thousand campfires. But instead she could only offer her support and an ear to listen when the cold crept in too far, hoping Herah would feel comfortable enough to do so.

Herah’s reluctance to speak about her wants and needs reminded her, surprisingly, of Leliana. When they were both younger and in service of Divine Justinia, Leliana had a habit of listening rather than speaking; probably a result of her Nightingale training, but nonetheless an obstacle to overcome in her private life. It took Cassandra months to find out about her pet nugs, and more months still to learn how she grieved for the lost Hero of Ferelden and searched for the Warden Alistair. Cassandra remembered sitting with her, much as she had with Herah, and gently reminding her that she would listen no matter what; eventually, Leliana apparently started to believe her.

But that was the beginning of a road she didn’t like to think of for too long. She still felt guilt for the feelings she bore for Leliana, for the way they sprang forth when they were both vulnerable. Her gratitude for Leliana’s understanding - and discretion - would never run out.

They made it to Drakon’s Rise and, by her estimates, were halfway finished cleaning out the Templar camps. The quarry would have to wait until after they took Suledin Keep. Reinforcements from the castle would prove devastating to their efforts in aiding the captured villagers, and the Inquisition needed a foothold in the Lion as quickly as possible if there was to be any hope of a lasting peace - even if it only lasted as long as the Inquisition’s presence.

Even though Herah reassured her they would have time, Cassandra couldn’t help but worry about Hawke’s “Warden friend.” Had they vanished with all the others? If not, and if Hawke contacted them, why did they still elude the Inquisition? She thought Wardens of all people would understand duty, particularly one to their own people as they vanished seemingly into thin air. It unsettled her, but all she could do - like Herah and Hawke - was wait.

Wait, just as they did at the final red Templar camp at the Tower of Bone. Here the red lyrium was more concentrated than anywhere they had seen in the Lion, spires of the stuff jutting ten and twenty feet into the air and somehow untouched by the consistently falling snow. Templars patrolled the camp in twos, bolstered by a Behemoth towering over them. Herah positioned her party at the base of the hill leading to the tower and crouched low behind an icy boulder.

“Blackwall, Cassandra,” she whispered, “I want you to make your way up the hill, quietly. Dorian, find a position behind me when I move up. I’ll fire an exploding shot to give you some time to charge, and Dorian and I will cover as we move up to pick them off.”

Blackwall peeked over the boulder. “A solid plan, my lady.”

Cassandra nodded, impressed by how much Herah seemed to have learned. “At your signal, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t die,” Dorian added, dipping his head at both of them. Herah pointed, and they were on the move.

Leading Blackwall nearly all the way up the hill and taking a position out of sight, Cassandra turned back to Herah and nodded. In just a heartbeat the whistle of an arrow rang past her ear, followed immediately by a blast that echoed over the snow. With a loud cry, she ran up to the camp and bashed the first Templar to cross her path with a sword. Her sword moved almost of its own will, cutting and slashing between blocks with her shield. Blackwall stepped in a time or two to lead off extra Templars, but otherwise held his own. More than once, an arrow or a blast of magic shoved a Templar to the ground to make way for the one right behind him.

Soon only the Behemoth remained, arrows poking out of him like a grotesque porcupine. Already injured, he was an easy fight, falling quickly between Cassandra and Blackwall’s blades. Herah and Dorian caught up with them seconds later, both pale and sweaty. They all passed around health potions before appropriating one of the Templars’ ravens to send word to the last camp they claimed. Within hours, Inquisition scouts trickled into the camp.

Dorian caught up with Cassandra while she helped pitch more tents. “How is the Vitaar?” he asked, gesturing with his staff to lift a pile of posts from the ground and plant them under the canvas. “Has the Inquisitor found it satisfactory?”

Cassandra paused, hammer in one hand and a long spike in the other. “It works well,” she said, glancing at Herah, who was taking a drink from a canteen. “She has not complained of the Anchor troubling her.”

“Excellent.” He brought his staff down hard into the dirt, and the spike Cassandra was about to hit sank into the ground. She rolled her eyes and he laughed. “Let me know if the recipe needs tweaking. I suspect it won’t be a catch-all solution.”

Standing straight, she put her hands on her hips. “I have to agree. I will let you know.” She took one last look at the Inquisitor before continuing, remembering Herah’s reaction to the Vitaar. “Thank you again for your help in that, Dorian. I think it meant more to her than she would ever let us know.”

He gave her a funny look. “That’s because  _ you’re _ the one that gave it to her, Seeker.”

Cassandra frowned, looking up at him. “What does that mean?”

Dorian laughed loud and sharp, attracting several looks from the scouts. “Why, dear Cassandra, I’m only saying the Inquisitor  _ likes _ you. Perhaps more than she likes us.” He shrugged. “Not that I mind. It’s nice to see you smile every once in a while.” Before she could reply, he sauntered away, leaving her even more confused. But then, Dorian was fond of riddles only he knew the answer to and jokes only he knew the punchline to. Perhaps it was just another one of those.

**⭘╳⭘**

“Maker -  _ take _ \- these - giants!” Cassandra yanked her sword from the ankle of the fallen giant, grimacing as it knocked against shards of red lyrium embedded in its skin. “This is the  _ third one _ !”

Dorian leaned on his staff. “I almost pity the beasts,” he murmured. “No one deserves this fate.”

“I bet they don’t even understand what’s happening,” Herah said, her voice soft. “They don’t understand the pain.”

Cassandra never even paused to think of it like that. She supposed it made sense, like a dog wouldn’t understand why its owner struck it; except these dogs often swung first. Still, red lyrium was cruel - even for creatures whose only goal was, apparently, to fight for food. She looked away from the huge body riddled with red lyrium, suddenly feeling sick.

“We should move on.” Blackwall’s suggestion was gruff but gentle, and timely all the same. “The battlements aren’t far.”

So they moved on, taking the path that branched off to the right. It led them through a storage room where Herah picked up some papers for Leliana to look over and the others sifted through chests and crates of supplies. Cassandra found a new dagger, while Dorian picked up a new cowl and Blackwall secured a new pair of silverite gauntlets. In a dusty corner sat a box of potions that they split between them.

Further into the keep and up a wide flight of stairs, a lone man stood at the entrance to what appeared to be a shrine. He looked average enough, of a regular build with plain features and dressed in the casual robes of a mage but not wielding a staff of any kind that she could see. When the party approached he stepped back and bowed to allow them entry, smiling. Cassandra immediately mistrusted his content lack of hostility.

“Greetings,” the man said, moving to stand closer to Herah. He spoke with a voice unnaturally smooth and - if she wasn’t imagining it - subtly venomous. “I am Ishmael, the Spirit of Choice.”  _ Demons. _ Of course. “Now, this could be ugly, or… I could offer you gifts and be on my way.”

“Do not trust this creature,” Dorian warned, his lips curled in disgust. “He seeks only to manipulate you. I have no doubt he has played a part in the destruction of Sahrnia.”

Herah either ignored him or pretended to, Cassandra couldn’t tell. “What sort of gifts?” she asked. Cassandra’s stomach dropped.

“Inquisitor -” Cassandra stepped forward, her heart pounding, but she held up a hand.

“Ah, you are clearly a woman of discerning tastes.” Ishmael’s voice crawled along her skin. She shivered and shared a look with Dorian and Blackwall, who looked just as panicked as she felt.

The demon continued. “I can offer the standard gifts, but at a much greater quantity than any other. Riches…” He waved his hand and a pile of glittering gems appeared at his feet. “Power…” Another wave of his hand conjured a shining shield, an amulet, and vials of spirit essence. “Or…” The way his eyes raked up and down Herah’s body as he smirked was vile. “Virgins. But those will take longer to bring forth.”

Herah sighed, shaking her head. “Oh, Ishmael, I’m disappointed. I was hoping you would say ‘unlimited pastries.’” She planted her hands on her hips and shrugged. “I have no choice. I have to kill you.”

Without missing a beat, Ishmael’s eyes began to glow and his body twisted and elongated to take the form of a shade. “You cannot kill me, fool,” he growled. “You waste your wit.”

The fight was quick, even when the demon summoned support from Emissaries and rage demons. Ishmael died with a long screech and an explosion of smoke. The “gifts” he proposed vanished, too, evaporating before anyone could even try to touch them. Herah frowned at that, mumbling that he could have at least left them for the trouble. Cassandra had to laugh at that.

They extinguished the remaining cells of red Templars soon after, claiming the impressive fort for the Inquisition and establishing a camp at the heart of it. Herah sent scouts and ravens alike to call for troops to occupy the fort, solidifying the Inquisition’s presence in Emprise du Lion and tightening its hold over lands in Orlais. That night, everyone drank and ate well from the Templars’ own supplies, celebrating yet another victory headed by the Inquisitor herself. Cassandra was reminded of Herah’s aptitude for her task, and she felt honored to have been a part of it.

In truth, it all took her breath away. Herah grew from a mercenary spy at the Conclave to an accomplished leader, soldier, and ambassador in a matter of months, experiencing and initiating more than anyone else might have hoped to do in a matter of long years. But she still maintained a sense of humor, Cassandra reflected, and a humility the rest of Thedas would do well to adopt. And all of that was without mention of her surprisingly gentle nature, always ready to lend a helping hand or a kind word.

Cassandra sat across from Herah at the fire that night, having been unable to secure a seat next to her before Dorian and Blackwall descended to tell stories of their exploits to the soldiers that helped them take the keep. She watched the Inquisitor laugh and tell the story of the High Dragon for what must have been the twentieth time, sheepishly admitting her initial reluctance and loudly exclaiming their victory at the end. She raised her cup of ale to Cassandra when she got to the part where her blade struck the final blow, and all the soldiers applauded.

“I owe more lives to Cassandra than I would care to admit,” she said after, watching her with the fire reflecting in her eyes. “At this point I might as well sign over an eternity of debt.”

Smiling, Cassandra met her gaze and called across the flames, “An eternity would not be so bad. I only hope you can cook. I am hopeless at it.” Laughter bubbled up around them, but for some reason, the only person she could see was Herah.

**⭘╳⭘**

The quarry proved to be almost a vacation compared to the last few weeks in the Lion. They were able to dispatch the skeleton crew of red Templars with relative ease, picking up orders from Samson himself along the way; Cassandra was glad their final mission in Emprise du Lion was so small. The villagers were all released and sent home while Inquisition agents captured Mistress Poulin to answer for her crimes of selling them to the Templars. Herah’s mouth twisted whenever she spoke of the deed.

Their return to Suledin Keep was met with a letter from Leliana. Herah dismissed Blackwall and Dorian and untied the signature black ribbon around it; as she read, her frown grew deeper and deeper. Cassandra shifted from foot to foot, unsure of why she wasn’t dismissed or whether she should ask what was in the letter. Whatever it was had made her shoulders tense.

“Inquisitor?” Cassandra finally said. “Is there news?”

Herah sighed, handing her the letter. “There is some word on the Warden,” she explained, and Cassandra saw she spoke truly. “But all they know is he’s in Ferelden. There is some good news - Leliana has a lead on your missing Seekers. She says her agents traced them back to Caer Oswin in Ferelden.”

“Caer Oswin?” It was Cassandra’s turn to frown. “Why there? That makes no sense.” She handed the letter back to Herah. “Will we depart soon, then?”

“Yes. We leave Emprise du Lion in a couple of days. Skyhold is on the way, so we can resupply and rest.” Herah looked at her. “Cassandra… no matter what we find at Caer Oswin, I want you to know I’ll stand by you. Always.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor. I cannot begin to say what that means to me.” In all honesty, Cassandra didn’t have any idea what they might find at Caer Oswin. None of this was adding up: Lord Seeker Lucius’ flippant speech at Val Royeaux, the disappearance of the Seekers, and now gathering at a Ferelden keep? Was he planning an attack? She supposed it was possible he might be rebelling against the Inquisition, but… The numbers were impossible.

Cassandra worried over the revelation the entire way back to Skyhold and for the duration of their stay there. She took her meals in private and drilled every day, destroying six dummies before Leliana interrupted her with Herah and Hawke flanking her. She still found it hard to look directly at the Champion of Kirkwall, a tall woman hardened with muscle but still stunning. She remembered meeting Hawke for the first time after Varric brought her to Skyhold and feeling as giddy as a schoolgirl around her; though next to Herah, she didn’t look nearly as intimidating. It was really no contest with the Inquisitor’s sharp jawline and sweeping horns.

“I have news,” Leliana said curtly. “Can we speak in private?”

Still breathing heavily, Cassandra nodded and shoved her practice sword into the ground below the dummy. She pulled the rag from under her belt and led the other women into the armory and up to the top floor where she kept her quarters. The building was empty for the time being. While the others got settled, she stripped out of her practice leathers, leaving a dirty tunic and breeches behind.

“You said you had news,” Cassandra prompted over her shoulder as she hung up her armor on its stand. “I suspect it is regarding Hawke’s Warden.”

“It is,” Hawke answered. “They found him. He’s hiding out in Crestwood.”

She leaned against the railing overlooking the stairs and lower floors. “Convenient.”

Leliana spoke up. “You should go directly to Crestwood after your business at Caer Oswin. We cannot afford to lose sight of him again.”  _ Him. _ Cassandra found it odd that no one had named the Warden yet, but she guessed it was just to be safe. “My agents coordinating with Hawke have worked endlessly to track him down. I would not have their time sacrificed for nothing.”

“Understood.” Herah crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you, Leliana. As always, your agents have proved invaluable to the Inquisition.” She looked at Cassandra. “Can you and the others be ready by dawn?”

_ So soon? Maker - it only makes sense, I suppose. _ “Who is joining us? I will let them know.”

“Dorian and Blackwall volunteered.”

“Very good.”

Hawke cleared her throat. “I shall travel ahead to Crestwood and wait for you there. The village will likely need assistance; I hear there’s darkspawn all over.”

Leliana nodded. “Good. It’s settled then. Cassandra, if I might have a word?”

“Of course.”

The Nightingale waited until she heard the door below slam shut before she spoke again. “I need you to be careful in Crestwood,” she said quietly, her eyes narrow. “Hawke has not once mentioned the name of her Warden. I do not know him, and so I do not know how he will handle the Inquisition on his doorstep. Be on your guard.”

Cassandra was speechless. Leliana was sending her after someone she didn’t even know the name of – because they might be able to answer questions about the disappearing Wardens? Some of her disbelief must have shown on her face, for Leliana unfolded her arms and stepped closer.

“Cassandra, I trust Hawke,” she said, “and I know you do, too. There are often moments when we must rely on blind faith to bear success. This, I fear, is one of them.”

She nodded, her fears quieted for the moment. Leliana had always been wise beyond her years; it was one of the things Cassandra found so attractive in her. “I understand.” Sighing, she toyed with the hem of her tunic. “It will be good to finally have answers, but… I fear for the fate of my colleagues.”

Leliana moved to lean against the railing next to her. “I do, too. That is another thing. Be careful at Caer Oswin. Though I have no doubt Herah would be the first to step before a blade for you.”

She whipped her head around. “What do you mean?”

The Nightingale laughed. “Cassandra, please, surely you see it? You are her most frequent companion. You look up at her like – well. I was going to say ‘like Andraste herself planted her before you,’ but it’s no longer so fanciful, is it?”

Cassandra huffed. It was impossible! “I have no idea what you are talking about. I look up at her because she is nearly two feet taller than me.”

“Yes, and your eyes go all doe-y because of it. You looked at Hawke the same way for a while.” That is how I looked at you, too, then, is it not? she thought. But she could never say that out loud. Dodging a sharp elbow, Leliana slipped around Cassandra and began descending the creaking wooden stairs. “Sleep well, Cassandra. I will see you on your return from Crestwood.”

**⭘╳⭘**


	7. Book of Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right, so at this point i'm just going to give y'all a blanket warning - canon divergence is a thing now! yeah, i just can't seem to keep the original events straight in my head so uhh pardon the divergence! it's for, as the tag says, convenience. lol anyways, enjoy and see you in the next chapter! thank y'all so much for 500 hits!!! <3

They were a day’s ride from Caer Oswin, camped near a wide stream that cut through a thinly wooded field. The air was crisp and cool as late afternoon turned to evening and the soldiers finished pitching tents and building fires; even though they wouldn’t accompany Herah and the others into Caer Oswin, Cullen insisted on having them nearby in case things went south. Cassandra had balked at that, only begrudgingly accepting the backup when Leliana offered her agreement. Herah was secretly relieved to have them with her, especially since she didn’t know if Lucius would be hostile.

Cassandra had been distant lately. She spent her nights alone, sitting apart from the others at supper and retiring early to her tent right after. When she did stay out, it was to read, and everyone - even Bull and Dorian - knew to leave her be when her nose was buried in a book that she not-so-discreetly hid the cover of whenever she took it out. Herah worried for her but knew it was the impending confrontation that made her withdraw. It pained her to see her friend so tied up in knots.

That night, she excused herself from Dorian’s re-telling of the time he crashed an Orlesian birthday ball and slipped quietly into a seat next to Cassandra. She waited for her to close her book, not wanting to interrupt.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” Cassandra said, not unkindly.

“I wanted to see if you were alright,” Herah replied. “I don’t imagine this whole affair has you feeling your best, but still.”

She sighed, looking down. “I will live. It is difficult not knowing if your former brothers and sisters in arms will greet you as friend or foe at your next meeting.” Cassandra turned her gaze upward again. “Thank you.”

Herah smiled. “Of course.” A moment of comfortable silence slipped between them. “What are you reading?”

Blushing, Cassandra glanced at the book sitting face-down at her side. “Oh, just - just a book.” Her face crumpled as soon as she said it.

“Really,” Herah teased, “I would never have guessed!” She laughed. “But really. What’s it about? Is it a thrilling romance? Is it _more_ than romance?”

The Seeker buried her face in her hands. “I cannot hide _anything_ from you, can I?” Without looking up she scooped up the book and handed it to Herah. “Here.”

_Swords and Shields_. A red-haired woman in armor raised her sword to the sky on the cover. “ _Swords and Shields_? I’m afraid I’m not familiar.” She spied the name at the bottom of the cover. “Wait. _Varric_? He wrote this -” Realization crashed over her. If it wasn’t _Hard in Hightown_ , that could only mean - “Cassandra!” she said, grinning. “I never would have guessed! But there’s no need to hide -”

“It’s _literature!_ ” Cassandra defended, snatching the book from Herah’s hands. “Smutty… literature.” Her shoulders sagged. “I should never have brought it with me. I don’t even have the next one and it’s going to end on a cliffhanger!”

“If it’s so good, maybe I should read it.” When Cassandra giggled, Herah joined her. “I have to admit, I never imagined you would read Varric’s work.”

“He cannot know about this, Herah,” she said, suddenly serious. “Do you know how long he would hold it over my head? We would be in the Golden City and he would still tease me about it!”

“But don’t you want the next chapter?” Herah flexed her arms and cracked her knuckles. “I happen to be very, _very_ persuasive.”

There was no hiding the slight smile on Cassandra’s lips as she shook her head. “Absolutely not.” Maker, but she was just so  _flustered_. Herah bit her lip, trying not to smile too wide. She couldn’t imagine what the Seeker would think if she knew how much she was enjoying this.

“Alright, alright,” she said, already plotting. They wouldn’t be back at Skyhold for a while, but Varric might have some free time… She would have to stop by the Crossroads on the way home and send a letter. “You know, it’s cute when you turn so red.” _Shit_ , did she really just let that slip?

“Cute? I am not cute.” Cassandra crossed her arms. “I am a soldier, a Seeker of Truth. We are not _cute_.” The blush on her cheeks said otherwise. “I am far from it.”

Stifling another fit of giggles, Herah said, “Keep talking, Cassandra. You’re just making it worse. I want to see how far you can go.”

“Ugh!” She rolled her eyes. “Now you _sound_ like Varric.” The look she gave Herah was sly. “Better you than him, I think.” They fell quiet again. Herah watched the shadows play on Cassandra’s face as she stared into the fire. “Thank you for coming to me. I did not know how much I needed to hear your voice.”

“Of course, Cassandra. I was starting to miss yours.” She tried to make it sound like she was teasing, but there was more truth in her words than Cassandra seemed to realize. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse, though.

“What about you? How are you holding up, my friend?”

Herah shrugged. “I’ve… you know, been. Things are starting to pile up.” It was an understatement for the ages, but sitting next to Cassandra, it all seemed to fade a bit.

“Indeed, they are.” Cassandra nudged her leg with her knee. “But we are here to bear that weight, and so we must carry on. I will be here to help in any way I can. All you have to do is say the word.”

In her tent that night, with the full moon just pushing its way past the canvas to dust the inside with dull silver light, Herah lay awake rolling Cassandra’s words over in her head. _I did not know how much I needed to hear your voice._ In that single sentence, everything came together. Herah understood what she never knew she  _didn’t_ understand. Cassandra was a fire, burning against the cold of war and snow and grief. Without it, Herah shivered and shook at its absence, fumbling her way through the darkness. But when she had the privilege of being near it, of basking in her warmth and sharing her light, it left her blinded to all the world.

Blinded, but for the way back to her - to Cassandra.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

“Wait - look there! He’s still alive!”

Herah ran after Cassandra, her bow drawn and ready. At the foot of a flight of stairs lay a man in Seeker armor; as they approached, he moaned and looked up. She struggled to keep looking at him, tainted by red lyrium and, by the looks of it, slowly dying. Veins of the stuff bulged under his sallow skin and pulsed with each of his heartbeats. Cassandra knelt at his side.

“Daniel,” she breathed, “thank the Maker I found you. Where are the others?”

“Lord Seeker - he -” Daniel broke off in a fit of coughing. “He betrayed us. Sent us one by one on missions. But the Order - the Order of Fiery Promise was waiting.” He winced. “Every time. He all but sold us to Corypheus.”

Cassandra took his hand, tears shining in her eyes. “You should have come with me.”

Daniel’s laugh was choked. “I wanted a promotion. And now look at me.” He let out a shaky sigh, fighting back another groan. “It’s like - it’s like a demon. It’s poisoning me, like all the others.” Turning his eyes up at Cassandra, he gripped her hand with both of his. “Please, Cassandra. You know what you have to do.”

Herah gestured to Dorian and Blackwall, taking them back the way they came. Blackwall laid a hand on her shoulder as she stubbornly wiped the tears from her face. Behind them, Cassandra spoke briefly with Daniel before unsheathing her dagger. Moments later, she rejoined them.

“He was my apprentice,” she explained, her voice soft but strained. “A good soldier.” Cassandra’s face hardened. “Lucius will die for this. He must.”

Herah felt sick as they climbed the stairs. The last thing she expected walking into this was to see Cassandra mercy-kill her former apprentice. When they reached the door to the upper courtyard of the castle, she stopped and gently pulled Cassandra to the side.

“Cassandra,” she said, but couldn’t continue before Cassandra began speaking.

“Herah, we must continue. There is no reason to delay -”

Herah raised her hand, hesitated for a millisecond, and cupped Cassandra’s cheek. “Cassandra,” she repeated, more firmly this time. It felt like she held all the weight in the world in her palm. “I will be right behind you. Lucius will not walk away from this.”

For just a moment, she softened and even leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed. “He is mine,” she murmured. Only when Herah removed her hand did she proceed to open the heavy wooden door and step into the bright sunlight. Steeling herself, Herah followed.

Lord Seeker Lucius was flanked by several of the Order of Fiery Promise. Upon hearing the party approach he turned to face them, and Herah was surprised by how pale he looked compared to when she last saw him in Val Royeaux. Dark circles hung low under his eyes but he still found it in him to sneer at the four of them.

“Lord Seeker Lucius,” Cassandra all but growled.

“Cassandra,” greeted Lucius, “and the woman who could only be the leader of the Inquisition.”

“You have an awful lot of explaining to do.” Herah crossed her arms over her chest.

Lucius rested his hands on his sword belt. “Do you know that the Seekers were the first Inquisition?” He shook his head. “Oh yes. We sought to make the world better, just as you do now - but do you know what me made? The Chantry. The Circle of Magi. The Templars, all to end a war.”

“And so now you would aid Corypheus, a would-be god?” Cassandra demanded, stepping forward. “Have you been so blind to the turmoil he has caused?”

“Corypheus is a monster with limited ambition.”

“And your ambition is so much greater.”

Lucius matched her step forward and lowered his voice. “We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra. We created a decaying world and fought to preserve it even as it crumbled. We had to be stopped. You don’t believe me - see for yourself.” He procured a book from one of the men of the Order and passed it to Cassandra. “The secrets of our order, passed to me from the last Lord Seeker when he died. It was not too late to do the right thing.”

“This isn’t the right thing!” Herah exclaimed. “This is -”

“Lord Seeker.” Cassandra’s voice was terribly soft. “What you’ve done…”

Lucius dipped his head. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “What Corypheus did to the Templars does not matter now - I have seen the future. This is a new order, one that will right the wrongs of its predecessor. Join us, Cassandra - it is the Maker’s will!”

Cassandra drew her sword.

Be it madness or weariness, Lucius did not last long. While Blackwall and Herah downed the flanking Order, Cassandra fought in a quick bout with him before knocking his sword from his hand and driving her own through his heart. He died without a last word, falling to the ground in a crumpled heap. Cassandra breathed heavily as she backed away from his body and to her place by Herah’s side.

“He was insane,” she panted, “it had to be Corypheus’s influence.”

Herah knelt to pick up the book dropped in the heat of battle. On a whim she also took Lucius’s amulet, figuring Cassandra may want it later. “He wasted lives.”

“He could not have destroyed all of us. I will not accept it.” She wiped her sword on the grass before sheathing it. “Let us return to camp. I want to examine this book.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Herah tried for hours to keep herself busy and give Cassandra space. She refreshed her supply of Vitaar, reorganized her potions ingredients, sharpened her dagger - she even wrote that letter about the next part of _Swords and Shields_ just to give her hands something to do. After she slipped it into a wooden canister and set it on top of her things so as not to forget it she sat on her bedroll, unsure of what to do next. She sat there for ten, maybe fifteen minutes before she couldn’t bear it anymore and stood up to leave her tent to find Cassandra.

When she pulled back the flap of her tent, Cassandra blinked at her in surprise before rushing forward to crumble into her arms. Herah stumbled back into her tent to sit them down before one of them toppled over.

“Oh, Cassandra…” Herah knelt in front of her, allowing Cassandra to fold into her chest as she cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’m here.”

From there it all came spilling out: the truth in Lucius’s claim of the Seekers being the first Inquisition, the way the Seekers created the Rite of Tranquility, and the way they used that Rite and cured it in order to make new Seekers. Herah simply let Cassandra talk, unwilling to intrude on her friend’s grieving with political opinions. Even so, she was troubled by the revelations and what they could mean for the future of the Seekers - and Thedas itself.

When it was all laid bare, Cassandra’s sobs slowed and she regained control of her breathing. Herah hated the way she pulled herself from her arms and from what she could feel, so did Cassandra. They sat there for a moment while she recovered; Herah pulled out her wineskin and poured them both cups.

“I…” Cassandra drank before she attempted to speak again. “Thank you, Herah.”

Herah took her free hand with her own. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. About Daniel, about Lucius… About everything.” She hesitated. “What will happen to the Seekers?”

“That is a good question. It seems unfair to let them dissolve, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“What if you rebuilt them?”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “Me? Do you really think I could - I mean to say, do you think I would be able to?”

“I do,” Herah insisted, “yes. You alone sought them out when they disappeared. You believe in the Seekers, Cassandra. I think you could make others believe in them, too.”

“Perhaps…” Her eyes turned misty. “He could not have destroyed all of us. It is not possible. After all this - after we defeat Corypheus, it is possible I could search. That is a start, at least.”

Hesitating, Herah took a sip of wine. It was muskier than she would have liked, but smoother than she expected. “What of the Rite of Tranquility? Will you tell the people?”

“Not now,” Cassandra murmured, looking down. “There is too much unrest, and it will likely last beyond the war against Corypheus. But in time, yes. It is not a secret that can be kept any longer.” She took another drink. “We may be able to find a cure. There are a lot of old secrets in that book; that may just be one of them. I would like to study them further before any course of action is taken.”

“I think that seems wise, Cassandra.” A stray tear slipped from the corner of Cassandra’s eye and Herah reached up to brush it away. Her heart jumped at the sensation of Cassandra’s cheek against her palm. “I believe you could make the Seekers better. Give them a noble purpose again.”

“Do you? Truly?” Her voice was strained. “I hope so. I hope I am not a fool trying to preserve what was lost long before my time.”

“Never,” Herah whispered, wiping at another tear. “Never.”

In the time it took for her thumb to slide across Cassandra’s cheek and wick away the tear, the air between them shifted and became charged as if a mage had cast lightning into both their lungs. It only became more intense as Herah pulled her close again, wrapping her thick arms around the broad form of Cassandra’s body. This embrace was different from the first - more fluid, more compatible than shaky gasps and grasping fingers desperate for purchase.

It lasted only for a moment before they both pulled away, leaving only cold air between them.

“Thank you, Herah.” Cassandra took a deep breath. “I needed that. To let everything out.”

“Any time. I will always listen.”

Just as Cassandra moved to stand and leave, Herah realized the embrace hadn’t been enough. Catching her by the hand, she leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against Cassandra’s cheek. The taste of salt lingered while Cassandra blushed red and left with a small smile on her lips.

They came to the Crossroads two days later to refresh their supplies and rest one more night before the last push to Crestwood. Herah sent a bird to Skyhold to carry her letter to Varric as well as word of the events at Caer Oswin, staying as vague as possible in case the bird was intercepted or lost. She noticed fewer haunted faces, those being replaced by hardened eyes and stiff nods. Now, at least, the people were less afraid. That had to count for something.

The closer they drew to Crestwood the worse the weather got, and the more the Anchor troubled her. The Vitaar kept the worst of it at bay, but wasn’t quite strong enough to eliminate all the pain; it ached like a bruise that refused to heal. Herah worried over the Anchor perhaps worsening again - until the day they reached Crestwood. Then it made sense.

The party rode out from under the shelter of a thick pine forest. Beneath the waves of the lake roiling in an endless storm, the distinct green light of a Fade rift glowed, momentarily blinding them and making the clouds above it look ill. Somewhere in the middle of the lake, an enormous tear in the Fade sent Darkspawn to terrorize the villagers of Crestwood.

Herah grimly flexed her hand as she led her companions toward the village.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**


	8. Those Who Wait

Their path through Crestwood and the surrounding lands led them along the coast of the haunted lake. The mayor warned them against draining the lake to close the rift for some reason, making Cassandra wonder if there was something besides the Darkspawn under its surface that he feared they would find. Herah only grumbled about how there was “always another damned crisis to solve”; but she continuously flexed her hand. It seemed the bad weather wasn’t the only thing picking at the Inquisitor’s nerves.

Hawke met them all under a wall of cliffs at another, smaller lake’s northern shores looking as disgruntled by the rain as everyone else. Her stripe of red paint across her nose was miraculously intact.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show,” she teased, wiping the rain from her eyes. “He should be here. Are you ready?”

Herah nodded. “Lead the way, Hawke.”

Somehow the cave was even chillier than it was outside. Water dripped in unseen crevices and echoed before and behind the group as they tread carefully through a winding corridor until an opening came up; crates and barrels all half-rotted littered the slick floor. Torches along the wall spoke of recent residence, but so far no one came forward - until a dagger whispered out of its sheath somewhere to Cassandra’s left. She whipped around in time to see a hand in shining silver armor press a blade against Herah’s throat.

All she could do was loosen her sword in its scabbard before Hawke barked, “Enough! They’re all with me. They’re friendly.”

A sigh of relief preceded the tall blond man that sidled around the Inquisitor’s hulking form. He looked laughably small compared to her, even with the smart dagger he still held. “Thank the Maker,” he said, sheathing the knife. “I  _ really _ did not want to fight her.” Striding forward, he clasped Hawke’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s good to see you, Hawke. I was afraid I’d lost you, since the world’s gone mad.”

Hawke smiled. “It only gets madder from here, I suspect. I’d like you to meet Inquisitor Herah Adaar, and her companions.”

They all introduced themselves before the Warden finally did so, too. “Warden Alistair Theirin, at your service.”

“Oh,  _ shit. _ ” Leliana was going to be furious. The others glanced at Cassandra in surprise and she felt her face burn.

She looked at Herah, whose eyes were full of stars. “Alistair,” the Inquisitor repeated. “You mean you knew the Hero of Ferelden?”

Alistair looked down. “I did, yes. We were good friends.” Before the silence could solidify too much, he clapped his hands and continued. “Well, now that all that’s done, I expect you’ll want to know about these disappearing Wardens.”

“We very much would,” Cassandra agreed. “Have you heard anything?”

“I have. We all have.” Alistair crossed his arms over his chest, partially hiding the Griffon crest emblazoned on his armor there. “Wardens began hearing the Calling, what tells us when we’re about to die.”

“Alistair…” Hawke stepped forward, as if to comfort him.

“That’s not all. Clarel has sent orders to report to Orlais to try and end the Blight once and for all. She intends to use blood magic. When I protested, I was forced into hiding.” He shook his head.

“It must be Corypheus,” Herah said. “We’ve seen his power. I don’t believe an Archdemon is behind this.”

“Neither do I, Inquisitor, which is why I did some research of my own. Hawke, I thought you had killed Corypheus - we all did - but since Corypheus is something like an Archdemon himself, perhaps he didn’t truly die.”

Hawke stared at Alistair. “What? Then how can he be killed?”

Alistair scoffed. “I was hoping you’d know. What I can tell you is that Wardens are gathering at a Tevinter ritual tower in the Western Approach, under Erimond’s orders. If I had to pick a place to use blood magic to try and prevent future Blights, that’s where I’d pick.”

“We should leave at once,” Cassandra said. Herah agreed, and the entire party - now six, including Hawke and Alistair - returned to Crestwood. Herah sent word to Skyhold telling the advisors to meet them in the Western Approach. They would spend one more night in Crestwood before departing, and Cassandra intended to use that time to get some answers from Hawke.

She couldn’t believe it. Why had the Champion kept such a secret? Of course she didn’t know that Leliana spent years searching for Alistair after the Blight, but it was impossible not to know of the time they spent traveling together with the Hero of Ferelden. Cassandra stormed up the stairs to the inn after a meager supper, her anger flaring with each step.

Hawke was leaving her room as Cassandra approached it. “Seeker,” she greeted, but balked after one look. “Would you join me in my room so we can talk?”

“Gladly.” Grinding her teeth, she followed Hawke and slammed the door shut behind her.

“Before you say anything -”

“No.” Cassandra’s hands curled into fists. “I have had enough of secrets. I have had enough of explanations. You  _ knew _ they were friends! Did it not occur to you that Leliana might wish to know  _ Alistair _ was your ‘Warden friend?’ When she finds out about this -” She stopped. “I did not think to tell Herah. She will not have thought to include it in her report.”

“Cassandra, please,  _ listen _ to me.” Hawke lowered her voice. “I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t safe,  _ nothing _ is safe right now. Alistair’s name is still spoken in Ferelden homes, he’s still a legend. I couldn’t let word get out that the Inquisition was looking for him until I was sure he could tell us what was going on.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Cassandra. I wish I could have told Leliana. From what Alistair told me, they were close. But it was too dangerous.”

Cassandra looked away. She wanted to see reason and understand the truth that Hawke spoke, but all she could imagine was Leliana finding out. What if something happened at the ritual tower? Hawke said it herself just a moment ago: nothing was safe anymore. The world was in pieces, all the more reason to take what solace one could while they had the chance. She tried to imagine if someone did the same to her but with Herah; she could not even fathom it.

“It was a mistake.” Cassandra opened the door and paused. “We ride at dawn. Be ready.”

**⭘╳⭘**

The Western Approach hadn’t changed much since their last visit. An unforgiving sun beat down on the orange sands below, which were kicked up into the travelers’ faces by sharp winds that did nothing to cool them down. Their steeds were giant dracolisks, cold-blooded beasts with wide clawed feet better suited than horses for the scorching terrain. They rode hard for the ritual tower at the far western reaches of the desert where Alistair said the Wardens had gathered for some kind of preventative ritual against future Blights. Upon their arrival, it was worse than Cassandra could have ever imagined.

Demons stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Wardens, apparently in the process of being bound to their service. Alistair was right - blood magic. She felt nauseous as they dismounted and ran across the bridge to where the Wardens performed their Bindings.

A man who could only have been Erimond stood on a raised platform overlooking the Wardens and guiding them through the Bindings. When he caught sight of the intruders, a sly sneer came over his pointed, aging face. “It would seem we have visitors,” he called, holding up a hand to signal the Wardens to stop. “It is with great honor that I welcome you, Inquisitor.”

Herah had an arrow knocked before he even finished speaking. “You’ll answer for this, Erimond!” she shouted, and hell broke loose.

“ _ Kill them! _ ”

Demons and Wardens and mages alike fell on them like a great storm. Even with two extra swords the fighting was bloody; demons screeched and mages shouted their spells while Wardens charged as if faced with a sixth Blight. The heat and fervor of it struck a cold fear into Cassandra’s chest but there was little she could do to quell it besides cutting her way through it. Eventually, only a small few remained - but they fled, gathering their own steeds and tearing northward to leave them alone on the tower.

Cassandra sheathed her sword. Her limbs felt heavy as stone from the exertion. “Erimond is gone,” she noted. “They appeared to go north.”

Hawke nodded gravely. “There’s an ancient Warden fort that way - Fort Adamant. I’d bet good money that’s where they’re headed.” She spat a glob of blood onto the sandy stone at her feet. “It’s damn near indestructible. A siege would last months before it finally failed.”

Herah yanked an arrow from the neck of a mage. “We can talk strategy at Griffon Wing Keep. I expect the advisors are already there.”

Alistair, who knelt at the side of a Warden, looked up. His eyes were dark. “They were completely enslaved. All of them.” He bowed his head. “Maker guide you.”

The Inquisitor turned to look north, squinting against the glare of the sun against the sand. “He’ll pay for this. But I expect he will want to bolster his forces. We should do the same.” She gathered the last arrow. “Let’s move. Griffon Wing Keep isn’t far from here.”

They all donned scarves and mounted up to ride for the Inquisition’s own desert stronghold. Despite the heat, Cassandra shivered at the thought of binding Wardens to demons. It meant an army of demons - certainly, it could be the key to ending future Blights, but it also meant an entire legion of enslaved demons bound to Corypheus’s hand. Her stomach turned. Herah described such a thing in her recounting of the terrible future she and Dorian witnessed, in one of the few times she would talk about it at length. Cassandra could tell the Inquisitor felt the same fear she did, if not magnified by having seen the results of this demon army. She could not begin to imagine the destruction it would cause.

Griffon Wing Keep rose over the horizon like a spiked, lurking beast waiting to pounce on all that came near it. Adjusting the stained cotton scarf wrapped around her face to protect her mouth and nose from the stinging sands, Cassandra realized Alistair wore his the same way; Leliana would not know his identity until he took it off. As if he felt her stare he glanced back, but she looked away so he wouldn’t say anything. Before long the gates were clanking open and Inquisition soldiers were walking their strange beasts into the outer yard.

Cullen greeted them at the stairs to the inner fortifications. “Inquisitor,” he said, nodding at the rest. “If you’ll follow me. Josephine has already called for water and refreshments. I know your journey was long - and judging by the blood, arduous - but I fear we are anxious for answers.” He raised an arm, and Herah led them all to the main watchtower.

In the cool shade of the broad, round tower’s lower floor, Josephine and Leliana sat facing away from them at a large table with maps and other documents scattered before them. Josephine’s staff scurried about with trays of food, flagons of water and wine, and extra chairs. Cassandra unraveled her scarf and the others followed suit; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair pulling his down just as Josephine and Leliana stood to face them.

When Leliana’s gaze fell on the Warden, the glass goblet of deep red wine in her hand slipped to the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces. Without speaking she lowered her own hood, revealing the bright ginger locks anyone so rarely got to see; her eyes were wide and her lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, Cassandra noted bemusedly, the Nightingale was speechless.

“Leliana?” Alistair whispered, his hands falling to his sides. “Could that be you?”

In an instant, the two of them rushed forward and met in an embrace - the kind of embrace that can be felt by everyone in the room, the one shared by friends pulled apart by war, suffering, and an insurmountable pile of work that stemmed from it all. Cassandra could not tell if it was Leliana or Alistair that wept harder, each clinging to the other in a display of emotion she had not seen from her friend in many long years.

“Perhaps we should give them -”

Leliana spoke over her, either to silence her or because she never even heard her. “I searched for you,” she said, “I spent countless years searching for you. Alistair, I - I -”

“Leliana, please,” Alistair interrupted, pulling back so they were an arm’s length apart. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but you must understand. I was trying to gather information on Corypheus - and then I heard he was dead, and then - he was back, and -” A laugh erupted from him, startling both Leliana and himself. “I can’t believe you’re tied up in this. Okay, I can, but I can’t believe  _ I’m _ tied up in all this.”

She frowned for a moment before pulling him into another hug. “I am so glad you’re alive,” she whispered, fresh tears falling. Cassandra felt her own eyes stinging. “We must speak alone.” She pulled away, wiping her eyes. “Please, if you all would give us…”

“Of course.” Herah gestured for the others to follow.

Cassandra heard snatches of their conversation as she followed Cullen and Josephine to the smaller tower. “...so much has happened … must catch up … they can wait, Alistair…”

For this, Cassandra figured, she would wait as long as she needed to. Leliana deserved, for once, to find some joy still remaining in the world they were tasked with saving.

**⭘╳⭘**

Weeks passed as plans were laid out for the siege against Fort Adamant. The Inquisition would focus the bulk of their forces on choke points throughout the fortress, pinning back the demon army so Herah and a small squadron could cut a direct path to Erimond and, presumably, Clarel. Cassandra was both relieved and terrified when the Inquisitor immediately established her as one of her team for the attack. This could only be a bloody battle with too many casualties.

Griffon Wing Keep transformed into an angry hive of activity - every day and night saw new reinforcements to the Inquisition forces until Cassandra figured at least half of their entire army had joined them. She thanked the Maker every night that Skyhold, leagues away, was so defensible and, for the moment, seemingly undetected by Corypheus. As long as he didn’t decide to fly his dragon overhead, they might be safe there.

As the soldiers gathered, though, so did the fear. It permeated the keep like a thick fog; Cassandra saw it on every fresh face, the ones that were probably in the Western Approach for the first time - but then even the most hardened of those at Griffon Wing Keep were more still than usual, and spoke in softer voices around their fires at night. For the most part Cassandra kept to herself. She always did before battle, preferring to spend time praying and ensuring all her equipment was in proper shape for a good long fight.

On a particularly stagnant evening, just before sunset, Leliana came to her tent at the heart of the keep. Alistair, for once, was not with her; when not in the war room, the two had spent many days together. They could often be seen walking the ramparts or sitting in some quiet space outside of all the bustle of a gathering siege.

“Cassandra,” Leliana greeted softly, ducking under the flap of her tent. “The day of battle approaches quickly. I wanted to see you before you charge.” That was the Leliana Cassandra remembered, the gentle quips only shared in the most private moments.

She closed the book of prayers she had been skimming but not really reading. “Of course,” she replied, “come, sit. I am not busy, as you can see.”

“Thank you.” Leliana sat next to her. She seemed happy, lighter than before. “How do you think we will fare?”

Cassandra frowned, looking through the small gap in the flaps of her tent. A group of soldiers walked by, all tense and silent. “It is hard to say. There is a cold fear in them. I cannot say I blame them, however.” She turned back to her friend. “But I have faith. The Maker will be at our side.”

“I pray that is so.” Resting her arm on the small table, Leliana sighed. “I always hated nights like this. Waiting for the hammer to fall. When I was in Ferelden during the Blight, it seemed that we spent every night on the brink of battle.” A small smile snuck over her lips. “Iona made it easier. She would tell stories of her clan and sometimes even sing Elvhen songs. I tried to learn one, but she said my accent was ‘atrocious.’” Leliana giggled. “She was right.”

“I cannot imagine how you must miss her,” Cassandra said, her chest aching. Leliana did not often speak of Iona Mahariel, Hero of Ferelden and slayer of the Archdemon - at the ultimate price. “Does he remind you of her?”

“He does. But it makes me happy to remember.” Leliana’s eyes were misty. “There were so many things I wish - I wish we had time for. I wanted to show her Orlais, show her the finest shoe shop in Thedas. I still have those blue slippers she gave me, the ones with the puppy charms.”

Somehow, Cassandra’s mind found Herah. Leliana’s time with Iona reminded her of her own: always fighting, always with a blade loosened in its scabbard to meet the next foe and shield the world from obliteration. Sometimes she felt the weight of it might crush her, but the sudden idea of losing Herah to the chaos - it was heavier than all of Thedas and her people, taller than the highest peak in the Frostbacks and burned hotter than the Approach at midday. It caught her by surprise, snatching the breath from her lungs.

Leliana gave her a sad, knowing look. “Do not let Corypheus take her from you. Do not wish you had more time - ensure that you never run out.”

Cassandra, still breathless, floundered for words. “Is this - is that what brought you here?”

“It is.” She stood and lay a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder. “Do not wait for peace. If I learned anything from Iona Mahariel, it was that peace will never come to those who wait.”

Cassandra spent the entire march north to Adamant in turmoil. Leliana’s words followed her every step of the way, slipping into her dreams and slithering around her every time she had a moment alone.  _ Do not wait for peace. Do not wait for peace. Do not wait for peace. _ Suddenly the fear was sharper, colder than it had ever been, when she looked at Herah and all she could see was a candle shivering in the wind, always at risk of vanishing into smoke. The visions even followed her into her dreams the night before the siege, showing her Herah falling in battle in a hundred different ways.

The courage found her at dawn, while the infiltration squadron gathered behind the front of the Inquisition’s assault. Herah stood off to the side buckling her gauntlets, blessedly out of earshot of the others; when she spotted Cassandra hurrying towards her, she nodded gravely in greeting but otherwise stayed silent.  _ Maker, give me the right words. _

“Herah,” Cassandra said, a little out of breath when she reached her. “I wanted to speak with you before we fight. I wanted to say - I mean, I need to say -”

“Cassandra?” The sound of Herah’s concerned voice broke through the confusion. “Are you alright?”

Cassandra took Herah’s hands in her own. Her heart felt as if it would pound through her chest and out through her armor. “I only mean to say… Fight well, Herah, and stay alive. We have much to do after this. Do not let it be the end. We cannot -  _ I _ cannot lose you. I cannot lose you,” she repeated, stronger the second time.

Before Herah could reply, Cullen sounded the horn, and the Inquisition began its siege against Fort Adamant.

**⭘╳⭘**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy. that sure happened.
> 
> chapter 9 is on the way! hold onto your butts!  
> [edit: lol oops "fort adamant" is actually called "adamant fortress." i done goofed. it's fixed in the next chapter!]


	9. Here Lies the Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! two chapters in under 24 hours! just a heads up, i get kinda heavy with spiders in this chapter. if they're not your thing, proceed with caution - esp toward the end, since i got more descriptive there. just a heads up!

Chaos rained down around Herah as she led her companions through Adamant Fortress: demons screeched, Wardens clashed, and the Inquisition drove like a spike through the corrupted ranks. Enemy after enemy fell to Herah’s arrows, Dorian’s spells, and Blackwall and Cassandra’s swords. At several points, she had to lead their group against overwhelming forces against the Inquisition so their own soldiers could scale the walls or push through another bailey.

Cullen met them after they put down a Warden Spellbinder and his force of Shades. Blood spattered his armor and he sported a shallow cut on his cheek. “Keep pushing!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the clamor of battle. “The Inquisition is behind you!”

Herah had never felt so alive. Her heart pounded in her ears alongside the roar around her; with every arrow fired, she felt only more compelled to keep turning the fight in their favor. She and her team worked like some fantastical machine bulling through the fortress. Cassandra stayed close, fending off demons while she fired from afar; Blackwall did much the same for Dorian as he cast his spells in the thick of things; the Inquisition soldiers bolstering them made a formidable spearhead in front of them to drive through the bulk of enemies. Together they made quick work of clearing three additional siege points.

When they came to the main bailey, Herah was surprised to see some Wardens still of their own free will fighting against enslaved mages and demons. She directed her group to surround the aggressors; with their aid, the free Wardens were able to regroup and eliminate them. Blackwall came forward in the brief quiet that followed. Herah let him speak.

“What has come to the Order is a corruption the likes of which have never been seen before,” he called out, climbing onto a crate so all could hear him. Blood dripped from the sword he left unsheathed. “You are Grey Wardens, the shield against the Blight and sworn protectors of all Thedas. Will you allow demons to infiltrate your ranks? Will you allow Corypheus to soil the name of your predecessors? Will you allow the Grey Wardens to fall?”

At first, the Wardens shared uncertain glances with each other. One brave woman finally spoke up, raising her mace high above her head. “No! We will fight!”

“We will fight! We will fight!” Others joined in, and Herah even heard a few yell “For the Inquisition! For Thedas!” The Wardens charged back the way she had come to assist the soldiers scaling the wall.

Herah gave Blackwall a firm handshake when he climbed down. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll need their support.” After everyone gathered what supplies they could from the crates around them and took some small healing potions, Herah gave the order. “Inquisition, _forward!_ ”

It was a short push to the central courtyard of the fortress, past rage demons and shades and mages alike. Erimond and Clarel stood on a platform behind a ring of Wardens, demons, and Spellbinders; between them, spurred by chants and spells, a rippling wave in the Veil threatened to split open. The Anchor in Herah’s hand throbbed even through the Vitaar.

“Inquisitor!” Erimond called, baring his teeth in a feral grin. “What a pleasant surprise.” Clarel looked down at her, her eyes wide, but she remained silent.

“It’s over, Erimond,” Herah shouted, knocking an arrow. “The Inquisition will not allow an army of demons to rise!”

Blackwall spoke up. “Is this not what the Grey Wardens were made to fight?” he demanded. “Does this not take everything you stand for and spit in its face? How does it feel to have betrayed your cause? How does it feel to have stripped yourselves to the bone of honor?”

“It doesn’t have to end like this, Wardens!” Herah hoped beyond hope her words would reach at least one of them. One doubter was all she needed to interrupt the tear in the Veil. “You can step back and restore that honor if you fight with us! Erimond has poisoned your cause and brought Corypheus’s taint into its very heart - will you stand by and let him corrupt the rest of the world with it? Will you let him enslave you to a false god?”

Some of the Wardens shared looks. One said, “Corypheus? Does she speak truly?” Another, “The mages have been acting strangely…”

“ _Corypheus?_ ” Clarel’s voice cut through the confusion like a whip. “What is the meaning of this? You would have us enslaved?!” She raised her staff. “Erimond, you will pay for this.”

“That is where you are wrong.” Erimond raised a hand to the sky, and a deafening screech rang out over Adamant Fortress.

“Wardens!” Clarel’s cry was shrill, desperate. “Aid the Inquisition!”

The dragon flew down out of the siege-fire’s smoke like a terrible giant bird, showering the courtyard in unnaturally red flames that burned white-hot and exploded anything they touched. The enslaved Wardens clashed with the free, and Herah and her party were soon embroiled in their bloodiest battle yet. Between dodging bouts of flame, chaotic spells, and enemy swords and arrows, the Inquisition had to fight with every last reserve to regain the advantage.

Eventually the dragon disappeared, presumably to hound the rest of the siege, and Herah was able to tip the scales back in their favor. When the courtyard was finally clear, she led them down the western battlements to pursue Erimond, who fled after the dragon first came. They found him dueling against Clarel herself, and by the looks of it she almost had him pinned down to his defeat. But when he fell to his knees and she raised her staff to deal the killing blow, the dragon came from nowhere and snatched her from the ground in his mighty jaws. Herah would never forget the sound of his teeth sinking into her flesh.

The dragon landed with Clarel still in his mouth. Just before he clamped down to finish the job, a blinding flare of light came from her staff, followed by an earth-shaking explosion. Herah tried to lead her team back up the way they came, but the battlements fell from underneath them to plummet to the ground far, far below.

Despite the imminent threat of falling to her death, she suddenly felt no fear. It was either the hand of the Maker or the hand of desperation that guided her. Herah reached out with the Anchor and, ignoring the fire that tore through it, grasped at the Veil itself and rent it apart beneath them. They fell and fell and fell into the cold darkness of the physical Fade.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Herah didn’t remember hitting the ground. Perhaps she never did; perhaps it only materialized underneath her to keep her from becoming a puddle. She _did_ remember opening her eyes to the strangest thing she’d ever seen.

Hawke and Alistair stood sideways, Cassandra upside down altogether. Dorian and Blackwall seemed to be oriented the same as her; but as they stood up, somehow everything warped to fit together where they were all upright in the same direction. Her Anchor was on fire and she felt dizzy, but otherwise unharmed. Everyone else confirmed they were relatively alright.

Cassandra came over to her and grabbed at her hand. “The Vitaar,” she said. “It’s gone. Will you be alright?”

Shrugging, Herah replied, “I don’t think I have a choice. I seem to be our way out of here.” A flash of green in the distance caught her eye. “There! That must be the way out.”

“Oh, this brings back memories,” Alistair grumbled. He lifted his foot to shake off a mysterious grey-green slime. “If only Leliana were here. Then we could _both_ be grossed out about having to do this _again_.”

“You’ve been here before?” Herah asked. She didn’t remember any stories about the Hero of Ferelden in the Fade.

“That’s going to have to be a story for when we aren’t here, I’m afraid.” He grimaced. “Always the _slime_ …”

“Be on your guard,” Dorian said quietly. “There is no saying what we will encounter - or what knows we’re even here.” He looked pale, his face tight. “We should move forward. I do not wish to linger here.”

Herah agreed. They started picking their way through the morbid landscape that echoed with clicks, creaks, and groans from unseen sources; candles and strange orbs lit their way down a relatively direct path back to the Adamant Fortress rift. When they came to a certain point, however, a glowing apparition humming with energy floated towards them. The towering cowl and robes of the Chantry looked familiar, but it wasn’t Mother Giselle…

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra whispered, stumbling to a halt. “Could that really be you?”

Herah hesitated, wary of the Fade and its trappings. “Wait,” she cautioned. “It could be a demon trying to trap us.”

Dorian shook his head. “This is no demon. A spirit, perhaps, and might even be Justinia herself. That I cannot say for sure. We should be watchful nonetheless.”

The spirit spoke then, in a voice that ached with a familiarity that Herah could only just perceive. “Greetings to you. It is not often living beings traverse into the Fade. I have wondered if I would see you here for some time now.”

Herah didn’t know what to think. She was still reeling from landing in the Fade, still trying to process what she saw at Adamant Fortress. “We have to get out of here,” she said. “Can you help us?”

“I can. I will guide you through the Fade, but you must complete a task along the way. The Nightmare, the creature the Wardens attempted to conjure - it stole your memories the first time you walked here, Herald. You must get them back; you must see the truth of what happened at the Conclave.”

She was stunned. “Then… you are the Divine?”

“We must move quickly, Herald. The Nightmare will soon know of your presence and try to eliminate it.” The spirit floated onward, and Herah reluctantly followed. They came to an area riddled with shades and demons. “This is the realm of the Nightmare, the leader of the demon army Corypheus was trying to gather. He is the source of this false Calling that led so many Wardens to their doom.”

Alistair asked, “So that’s how he did it? That’s how he made them… I feel sick. And it isn’t just the slime.”

Orbs that glowed brighter than the ones she had seen so far caught Herah’s attention. “There,” she pointed. “Are those my memories?”

“They are. But know this - when you reclaim them, the Nightmare will know you are here. Be prepared to fight.”

And fight they did. The first few memories she collected were out of order - Corypheus ordering someone to “hold the sacrifice still,” Herah stumbling into a room where he was about to cast a spell - but it wasn’t long before a creeping sense of fear crawled over her. Corypheus’s voice, presumably spoken by the Nightmare, echoed out over the Fade. It slithered down her spine in a rough shiver.

“There is an intruder,” the Nightmare drawled. “Did you think I would not notice your theft? Very well. Herald of Andraste. They give you that title as if you are holy. Do they not know how futile it is to fight? They must not. They must not see that they blindly stumble after a figure barely holding the world together. Worry not, Herald of Andraste. Soon you will fail, and the weight of the world will fall away from your shoulders in piles of ash.”

Herah gritted her teeth, doing her best not to let the words sink in with their icy claws. “I don’t believe you,” she shouted. “You will not break me!”

The Nightmare simply laughed. “Tell yourself what you must, Herald. It will not matter in the end.”

Slowly but surely, between spats against wraiths and shades, Herah’s memories returned to her. She was able to piece together the true events at the Conclave, from beginning to end; the truth was blinding, and it shook her to know it.

When Divine Justinia disappeared from the proceedings, Herah went to investigate. Her search led her to some quiet corner of the Temple of Sacred Ashes away from all the activity; what she heard inside was Corypheus preparing to sacrifice Justinia and she burst into the room to interrupt. Corypheus cast his spell but underestimated its power, causing him to drop a strange metal orb. Herah caught it, thus binding the Anchor to her and shredding the Veil - this opened the Breach, and when Herah tried to help Justinia escape, the Divine sacrificed herself that she might live. Thus Herah walked out of the Fade, leaving Justinia behind as the mysterious figure that so many saw before the smaller rift closed.

Herah gathered herself after the memories faded into the background of her mind. Cassandra stood over her, apparently having seen the same things she did. “Well,” she said, breathless, “at least we know I didn’t kill Justinia.” At some point she must have fallen; with a grunt she hauled herself to her feet. “I don’t know if you’re the Divine. But she sacrificed herself for me. I owe it to her, to all of Thedas, to keep going.” She drew her bow. It almost felt like she also drew strength from the spirit, some strange warmth. “We’re halfway to the rift. That Nightmare won’t know what hit it.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Their assault on the demons, shades, and wraiths seemed never to end. Every time they caught up with the spirit in Divine Justinia’s form, there were more enemies to fight. At one point they even attacked the spirit itself. To top it off, the Nightmare sent fearlings to chase after the party; apparently they looked different to everyone, for when Herah complained about seeing spiders, Cassandra protested that they were giant snakes and Hawke said they were giant bugs. As the fighting wore on, Herah felt herself tiring more and more, her limbs growing heavy and her steps less certain.

The Nightmare taunted them relentlessly. It finished telling Herah she would fail and moved on to Blackwall, mocking how his past haunted him and whispering that his shame would be his undoing, even going so far as to call his status as a Grey Warden a “foolish masquerade.” Dorian was assaulted with vulgar reminders of his father’s shame and the doom of the Imperium; it picked at Hawke with tales of a man named Fenris’s hatred for her; and to Alistair it spoke of a sixth Blight, one more disastrous than all five that came before it and the extinction of the Grey Wardens. To Cassandra, it only said her joy was bound to turn to ash again, as it always did.

To Herah, hearing all this was more painful than any wound. Her friends’ greatest fears twisted her heart into knots when she thought of how they must be amplified in the presence of the physical form of fear itself. She swore she would rip the Nightmare apart with her bare hands if she had to just to give them peace. Her anger fueled her steps, pushing her arrows further and burning through her exhaustion.

They came again to a stopping point, where the spirit shielded them so they might take a moment to catch their breath. Herah passed out healing and regenerative potions and readied some explosive and poisoned arrows. Hawke restlessly spun her twin daggers while they rested, her eyes rarely leaving the rift.

Blackwall rested on his broadsword with a heavy sigh. “Of all the places the Inquisition has gone, I was not expecting to find myself in the Fade.”

“None of us were,” Dorian replied, adjusting his gloves. His staff, strapped into the holster on his back, still glowed with ice. “We really do get to see everything. But if our travels point to the Black City, I am afraid you will have to count me out.”

Herah scoffed. “Don’t jinx us. We’ve traveled through time, the Black City isn’t as ridiculous as you might think after that.” She massaged her legs, grunting at how sore they were already. “Come on. We have to get going.”

Hawke stopped her. “We are getting close,” she warned. “I suspect crossing back won’t be a walk through a field of daisies.”

“It never is,” Alistair huffed. “Nothing is ever walking through a field of daisies. In fact, I think that will be the first thing I do when we leave here. Just because nothing has ever been that easy and, frankly, it’s just not right.”

“Just fight well. Let’s hope this is it.”

The Nightmare threw everything it had at them, but they cut through wave after wave of its minions as they came. The spirit aided where it could, blinding enemies or burning them with its pure energy. Slowly, they worked closer and closer to the glowing green rift that was their doorway back to the physical world, wading through muck and blood and slime (much to Alistair’s continuous complaining). By the time they came to where the Nightmare waited for them, they were all drenched in different fluids.

Before they could even approach the Nightmare, a spider the size of a dragon appeared from seemingly nowhere. Its pincers dripped with venom and eight beady black eyes the size of boulders glared down at them; it unleashed a horrifying shriek that pierced the ears like a knife. Herah froze in fear, knowing they had no way of defeating such a monstrosity. They were doomed.

Heat washed over her and the Fade was suddenly bathed in warm yellow light. The spirit, or perhaps Divine Justinia, drove herself forward and directly towards the beast. Just before it reached, it turned and looked directly at Herah, instilling in her a willpower that felt - _holy._ Holy was the only word for what she felt.

“Tell Leliana I am sorry,” the spirit said. “Tell her I failed her, and I am sorry.”

With an explosion of light and heat, Divine Justinia drove the giant spider back, back until it started striking at her. She returned each blow with a fiery whip, chasing it away from the group. It retreated further and further and kept going, even after Justinia’s spirit was spent and the world was dark again. Herah cried out and led the others to fight against the Nightmare, strengthened by the valor of Justinia’s sacrifice.

Perhaps weakened by the fall of its giant spider form, the Aspect of the Nightmare and its personal guard proved to be a simple enough fight to win. Even though it threw up countless barriers and unleashed barrages of weak demons, Herah and her companions were able to wear it down until it finally fell to a final blast of fire from Dorian’s staff. There was a brief respite before a familiar, spidery screech sounded from behind them. The damned thing was dragging itself back, determined to keep them from leaving the Fade.

Hawke stepped forward, her jaw set. “You go,” she demanded. “Corypheus was my responsibility. I failed Thedas; let me atone for that.”

“Hawke -” Herah couldn’t finish before a quiet voice interrupted her.

“No,” Alistair said. “The Grey Wardens failed Thedas by falling to his influence. I will stay. I will do what I can to wipe this stain from their name.”

“Alistair,” Herah said, but couldn’t think of what to say. This was an impossible decision, and it tore at her with every breath.

Surprising everyone, he pushed Hawke forward. “Go. I’ll hold it off. It is my duty, and I will embrace it.” He looked over his shoulder at the fast-approaching spider, then back to Herah. “Tell Leliana I said goodbye. Tell her… wait, here.” He yanked a necklace Herah hadn’t noticed from around his neck and thrust it into her hand. “Give her this and tell her I’m sorry.” The spider shrieked again. “Go, all of you, _go!_ ”

Herah paused to clasp his hand for a moment before tearing herself away and running for the rift. Cassandra, Dorian, Blackwall, and Hawke were all hot on their heels. When they reached the rift and she opened it for them, Herah ushered them all through; the last thing she saw before following was Alistair, facing the Nightmare demon with his sword raised high.

 **⭘ ╳ ⭘**  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in less than 24 hours because i love y'all and didn't wanna hold out on ya for this part!
> 
> also... i'm sorry. D:


	10. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the wait, friends. things have been rough but i'm working hard to keep up! chapters are still coming out, just maybe not as frequently as i would like. enjoy!

Cassandra agonized for days over how to approach Herah after Adamant Fortress. The revelations there haunted her and only added to the guilt she felt for accusing her of murdering the Divine when they first met - and refusing to eliminate the possibility for months after they began their work for the Inquisition. Sometimes the sight of her shackled and afraid haunted her dreams, now more than ever. Every night she prayed to the Maker to show her the way to forgiveness, but no answer came. She could barely face the Inquisitor - but then, everyone had distanced themselves while they recovered from Adamant.

It was on a rainy, soggy day that she finally decided to quit chewing on her tongue and speak with Herah. The Inquisitor had been quiet lately, taking meals alone and retiring early to her tent even on short travel days. The mage accompanying Herah’s private escort back to Skyhold could only keep the rain off the fires and out of the tents themselves, leaving everything not covered by the shelter of a nearby cave exposed to the downpour. The weather did not show any signs of letting up, either; it seemed they were doomed to this sopping misery for a while yet.

On her way to Herah’s tent, Cassandra spied Leliana carrying a small pile of scrolls to the ravens’ cages in the cave. She wore a black tunic and hood under her normal armor, and looked as if she’d been crying; Alistair’s sacrifice still hung heavy over the Inquisition, but perhaps the heaviest on her shoulders. Briefly she thought she should visit her soon before continuing on her way.

When she called, Herah hesitated before opening the flap of her tent - so much taller than anyone else’s - and motioning for her to enter. She was pale and a little thinner, and Cassandra noticed that the Anchor glowed more brightly than before, even under a fresh application of Vitaar. When they sat together on Herah’s bedroll, she moved as if her bones all weighed a ton.

“You are not well,” Cassandra stated, frowning.

Herah shook her head, grimacing. “No, I don’t suppose I am.” She looked up at Cassandra, her eyes searching for something Cassandra could not name. “What about you? We saw the Divine. Are you… have you been…?”

In truth, the events at Adamant haunted her even weeks after. When she did not dream of Herah in chains, she dreamt of the Divine, sometimes screaming for help, others guiding them with a warm hand through a land of terror and despair. But those were words for another time, and she said, “I will survive. I just wanted to make sure you would, too. I am worried.”

With her free hand, Herah pressed her knuckles to her forehead, her eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a moment, half laughing and half crying. “I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

“No. No, I suppose you don’t.” Cassandra took a deep breath.  _ Maker, give me the right words. _ “Herah, I… I must speak with you about - about when we first met.” Herah opened her eyes, but didn’t interrupt. “After what we saw at Adamant, after learning what transpired between you and the Divine, I must apologize. For my actions, for my assumptions, for all my judgments.” The words spilled forth, and she let them tumble out of her like a flooded river.

“When you first stepped out of the Fade at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, without the Divine at your side, I - at first, I hated you for it. But as I came to know you, I learned my anger was misplaced. I have said it before: you did not ask to be the only survivor. This life was thrust upon you, and I… I am ashamed of how my selfishness obscured the truth of your circumstances.” She remembered Redcliffe, and the two out of three catalysts the Inquisition had now stopped. “If that future you saw at Redcliffe, Maker forbid, if it ever came to pass - I would give my life over a hundred times so that yours would continue.”

For only a moment, Herah was quiet. Cassandra could barely breathe. Had she said something wrong or gone too far? She meant every word, she truly did.

“I don’t deserve you, Cassandra.”

Later it would occur to Cassandra that there was a hidden weight behind those words, a secret anguish that revealed itself in the way Herah held her hand for as long as she could, even when she was on her way out of the tent. But in the moment all she could hear was sorrow that was easy to pin to Adamant.

“What could make you say that?” she asked, wiping tears from Herah’s cheek.

“Alistair. I… did I do the right thing? Did I make the right choice -  _ was _ there a right choice?” Before Cassandra could reply, Herah continued. “And Leliana. I gave her the necklace and the message, and she just…  _ looked _ at me. And, Maker take me, I just left. I didn’t know what to do.” She bit her lip. “I still don’t know what to do. I’ll be lucky if she ever speaks to me again.”

“Herah.” Cassandra squeezed her hand, fighting back tears of her own. “You must understand. Leliana is grieving. She was very close to Alistair, you remember they worked together during the Blight. She only needs time, the way a wound needs time to heal. True, some wounds never heal, but they hurt less over time.” She brought Herah’s hand up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “If you like, I can speak with her. If anything, I can confirm that she has not condemned you altogether. Would that be alright?”

Herah nodded. “Thank you, Cassandra.” She looked up. “I needed this. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Sighing, Cassandra brushed a stray hair from Herah’s face. The movement felt so natural but still surprised her. “I care for you, Herah. A great deal. Always remember that.”

“I will. I promise, I will. Your friendship means the world and so much more to me, Cassandra.”

That night after her prayers, Cassandra didn’t think the sting of the word “friendship” would ever leave her.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Sweat and rain alike dripped down Cassandra’s back. The only sound she could hear was that of her own breathing as she swung again and again at the practice dummy, flinging straw and stained burlap in every direction every time the blunted blade made contact. Her vision was narrowed to only the dummy until she knocked off its arm, and even then she took a few good swipes as if to make sure the job was finished. When she jammed the sword into the dirt and unbuckled her leather practice gloves, the world around her faded back into existence.

Rain still beleaguered the escort, for the third day in a row now. They remained at the same camp, ever more impatient for the weather to pass so they could return to their beds at Skyhold. Tempers flared every now and again between the less experienced scouts and soldiers - but their officers always made quick lessons of a sharp tongue with extra watch shifts or latrine ditch expansions. It did little to lighten the mood of the camp, but at least made for some moments of peace.

The cool water felt heavenly against Cassandra’s battle-fevered skin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head skyward, letting the fat drops splash onto her face and wash away the sweat. Somewhere to her left, she could hear scouts laughing as they returned from patrols, mocking one of their friends who must have been knee-deep in mud and shit.

“It is good that they laugh,” Leliana said. Cassandra jumped, her eyes springing open. “It means they are not yet completely lost to this weather.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” Cassandra huffed. Her heart pounded in her throat. “You startle me every time.”

“I’m sorry.” Leliana looked away. Had she spoken so sharply?

“No, I only meant -” She sighed. “Forgive me. It seems the younger soldiers are not the only ones that are soured by this weather.” Nodding toward her tent, Cassandra asked, “Would you like to go in? The rain only seems to fall harder.”

In the shelter of the tent, Cassandra poured them both a cup of wine. Leliana took it but didn’t drink, only stared into the deep ruby depths before speaking. “Every time I look up, another friend has fallen,” she murmured. “Iona and now Alistair, too. The others lost to the wind. I do not even know if any of them are still alive.”

Cassandra frowned. “You have not kept track?” she inquired, surprised.

“Ten years is a long time. Too long.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tears slid down her cheeks. “Too long and not enough all at once.”

It was Cassandra’s turn to stare into her wine. She hurt desperately for her friend, but knew Leliana would need space. “I am sorry about Alistair. I wish I had the chance to know him better.” She hesitated. “You spoke to Herah?”

Leliana shook her head. “She spoke to me,” she said, swirling the wine around before taking a long drink. “I could not speak. I was… in shock. As you can imagine.” She looked up at Cassandra. “How is she? She did not look well when I saw her this morning.”

Worry gnawed anew at her belly. “I think she feels guilty,” Cassandra admitted. “That she fears she made the wrong decision.”

“In allowing him to stay.”

“Precisely.” Cassandra worried over a rough spot on the wooden cup, trying to choose her next words carefully - she didn’t want Leliana to think she was Herah’s nursemaid, scurrying after her problems for her, but she also wanted to help bridge the gap between the two of them. “Leliana, are - are you angry with her?”

Leliana raised her eyebrows. “Angry? Why would I - oh. Because of Alistair’s sacrifice?” She sighed, but it almost sounded like an exasperated laugh. “Oh, Maker, no, how could I be angry? Is  _ that _ why she won’t speak to me?”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes; she fears she has ruined your friendship. I think she is afraid of you. I am glad to hear she has no reason to be.”

“Of course not! I will have to speak with her as soon as I can. Maker, she must think I was going to send an agent after her in her sleep.”

It was good to see Leliana smile. Cassandra was relieved, and finished her wine as if to celebrate that small victory. “She will appreciate the peace of mind, I am sure.”

A wicked expression came over Leliana’s face, at odds with the streaks left by the tears. “What about you?” she asked. “The two of you? I have never seen anyone look at you the way she does. And the  _ flirting _ -”

Her cheeks hot, Cassandra scoffed. “We do not  _ flirt. _ ” She paused, butterflies suddenly filling her stomach. “Do we?” Leliana only sipped her wine, her eyes full of mirth over the rim of her cup. “Maker, take me.”

Leliana finished her drink and handed the cup to Cassandra. “I will speak with the Inquisitor soon and clear this up. You should consider doing the same - I hear Halamshiral is positively romantic this time of year.”

Cassandra planned to do just that, but by morning the rain had passed and the escort was on the move again. They marched for Skyhold with a new vigor, leaving little time to have a conversation of such a magnitude as Cassandra knew it would carry. Instead she had to stew over her feelings for Herah and wonder if she felt the same way; it sent a rush over her to imagine that she did, quelled only by a persistent nagging thought of  _ what if she imagined it all _ ? She didn’t think she could bear it if that were the case.

Upon returning to Skyhold, Cassandra was dismayed to find even more work separating the two of them; Cullen was installing a new training arena in the main courtyard of the castle and requested her assistance in running the first few rounds of drills to acquaint the soldiers with the new routine. Josephine handed her a mountain of paperwork backlogged from before their trip to Crestwood, while whenever she had a free moment Herah always seemed to be away or busy with her own work. A week and a half passed before, finally, Cassandra received a note one late afternoon from the Inquisitor to meet her in her chambers.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Cassandra should have known something was amiss when she noticed Varric was missing from his usual place in the main hall. She should have known when she heard his laughter coming from Herah’s chambers, but it didn’t dawn on her that he had tangled the Inquisitor in one of his schemes until  _ he _ opened the door and ushered her in instead of Herah. Suspicion reared in her like a viper.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, glancing sideways at Varric. “Why is he here?”

Herah rubbed her face, groaning. “I’d like to apologize in advance, but it was the only way this could work.”

“That  _ what _ could work? What in Andraste’s name is going on?!”

Before she could raise her voice any higher, Herah shoved something heavy into her hands. Cassandra’s mouth fell open when she saw the familiar figure of the guard-captain on the cover of the book, sword raised high and fiery hair fanned out behind her broad, freckled face.

Varric sidled over, a smug smile on his face. “Herah mentioned you were eagerly awaiting the next installment,” he explained. “So, I threw a little advance copy together just for you.”

“You  _ told _ him?” she spluttered.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want it!” he exclaimed, slipping it from her grasp in an instant. “You do want to know what happens to the guard-captain?”

She wanted to be angry, but - “She was - she was falsely accused!”

Varric laughed, tossing the book back to her. “Alright, Seeker, I’ve seen enough. This was worth all the work it took to get that for you.” He saluted, the wicked grin never leaving his lips. “Enjoy and good night, to the both of you.”

After he left, Herah sighed in relief. “I really am sorry,” she insisted, her cheeks ruddy. “He only agreed to finish it if he got to be here when you got it.”

Cassandra couldn’t even be angry. She threw her arms around Herah, laughing. “You have truly outdone yourself,” she gasped when they came apart. It was tempting to run off and bury herself in the book, but she knew there was more to be said. The thought made her stomach twist.

“Cassandra?” Herah was frowning. “Is everything alright?”

She blushed. “Of course,” she said, “of course. I only… I must speak with you, Herah.”

Herah half-smiled the way she always did when she made a joke. “I think you’ve already done that,” she teased, but sobered when Cassandra rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry. Please, what’s on your mind?”

Just like always, Cassandra found herself just spilling her words almost faster than she could process them. “I have noticed, you know,” she began, pacing around the room to try and release some of the nervous energy that rattled her bones. “The flirting. The gifts.” She held up the book. “So have others, mind you, but that matters little. I have noticed, and I must ask - what are your intentions?”

Herah stood in stunned silence for a moment and she had to wonder if she could hear her frantic heartbeat. Finally, she said, “I think we both know my intentions, then. Is that… is that okay?”

Suddenly she realized she didn’t know. She knew she appreciated them, and hoped they would turn into something more, but beyond that? “I - You must understand. You are the Inquisitor, and I am in your service.”

“Is it not what you want?” Herah stepped closer, her eyebrows knitting together. “Have I gone too far?”

“No!” She softened her voice. “I - I’m sorry. I should never have - I must go. I must go.” Before she could stop herself her feet carried her out of the door, but before she could make herself continue they halted right at the top of the stairs. And before she could rush back in, her heart wild with courage and fear all tangled together, Herah emerged looking just as swept up as she felt.

Cassandra straightened, almost defiant and bolstered by Herah’s choice to follow her out. “I will tell you what I want. I want flowers, candles, poetry - all the ideals that women like me are not supposed to want. How can that be between us? How can that be when you are you and I am myself? There is too much at stake.”

“Who says it can’t be?” Herah was impossibly close now, her shadow falling over Cassandra, who could feel heat radiating from her. “Who says I can’t give you all of those things and still save the world?”

“Are you saying you can?” Their breaths crossed between them and then they kissed, Herah’s hands on Cassandra’s face and Cassandra’s hands on Herah’s hips. The world narrowed to encompass only the two of them, locked together in an embrace so sweet it made Cassandra’s heart sing.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**


	11. Pins and Needles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey just a heads up - i mention needles a few times in this chapter: at the end of the first part, and again near the end of the third (and, of course, in the title). if they're not your thing, brace yourself! it's not detailed, but i wanted to let ya know anyways. happy reading!

The world was rosy after Cassandra left, tinted in hues of pink and gold as Herah went about the rest of her evening. The setting sun lit her chambers with rich light the color of honey while she drafted letters, signed documents, and reviewed Josephine’s notes on a meeting with Orlesian nobles about Halamshiral; but always in the back of her mind was the feeling of Cassandra’s lips finally on her own. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of her soft face under her fingers or of the smell of leather and oil. Thinking of how much more she wanted to hold her, to kiss her for much longer than that, made her stomach flutter and her cheeks burn.

And that was to say nothing of the fact Cassandra returned those feelings - and wanted her to act on them! At some point the pile of paperwork turned to inquiries about the best florists and candlemakers around, on which she devoted perhaps too much time debating whether to purchase roses or lilies, or scented candles or plain ones. And then there was the matter of finding poetry, but Herah figured there would be something suitable in Skyhold’s library. She could always ask Dorian to help; he was also fond of reading, she remembered. The thought of properly courting Cassandra made her so giddy now she could barely focus.

When she finally finished the inquiries and sealed them in their messenger tubes, a timely knock startled her out of her preoccupation.

Frowning, Herah set the tubes on her desk and went to the door. Leliana stood there when she opened it, her hood down and her face still.

“Inquisitor,” the Nightingale said softly, dipping her head. “I apologize for visiting unannounced. I hoped we might speak.”

Herah struggled to pull herself together. “Of course, Leliana,” she managed. “Please, come in. Have a seat if you’d like.”

“Thank you.” When they were both settled at Herah’s desk, Leliana took a moment before speaking again. “Inquisitor, I wanted to speak with you about Alistair.”

Herah’s breath caught in her throat and she noticed for the first time Leliana wore the necklace Alistair left for her. “I’m listening,” she said, trying to ignore the cold knot in her stomach.

Leliana reached over and took her hand; Herah didn’t know whether to feel threatened or just surprised. “I am not angry,” she finally said. “Maker, how could I be? You must understand that.” She squeezed her hand. “At first - I will admit, at first I was. But I was not surprised. He tried to do the same during the Blight, but Iona beat him to it.”

Her relief was tinted with curiosity, but she ignored that for the moment. She was just glad that they were still friends, and that Leliana didn’t hold Alistair’s death against her as she’d feared. “I can’t begin to say what it means to hear you say that. I was so worried you might never forgive me.” She covered Leliana’s hand with hers. “I am truly sorry that he died, Leliana. I wish there was something I could have done.”

“I do, too. But such is the way it always seems to go.”

Herah hesitated. “You mentioned Iona. The Hero of Ferelden?”

Leliana gave a sad smile. “Yes. We were all close - we traveled together for most of the Blight. In the end, the only way to kill the Archdemon for good, a Warden had to die. Alistair volunteered and Iona agreed, right up until the last moment. I suppose this was his way of making up for that.” She slipped her hand away, but not before giving one last squeeze. “I am sorry if I gave you the impression I was angry at you. I was angry, but I think more at the circumstances.” Standing, Leliana glanced at the messenger tubes on the desk. “Shall I take these to the rookery with me?”

“If it’s no trouble,” Herah replied, standing with her. “Thank you for coming here and… clearing this up. If there’s ever anything I can do, please, let me know.”

“You can start by killing Corypheus.”

Herah was glad to see the mischievous sparkle still remained in Leliana’s smile. Just as she started to walk her to the door, a frantic knock made them both frown.

As soon as the door opened, Josephine stumbled in, her hair a mess and her eyes frantic. “Inquisitor!” she gasped, grinning and brandishing a roll of parchment bearing a silvery blue seal. “Leliana, your page said I would find you here. I’ve just received word from the Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons - he’s invited us to Halamshiral for the Grand Masquerade!”

From that day on, Skyhold became a flurry of activity. Though the ball was still a great many weeks away, Josephine and Leliana began working day in and day out to prepare: formal attire needed to be sewn up, transportation needed to be arranged from Val Royeaux to the Winter Palace, and a plan for infiltrating and eliminating the assassination plot against Empress Celine needed to be drawn up. Herah tried not to think too much about all the meetings she would attend up until the night of the ball - and even worse, she and Cassandra would likely have to fight tooth and nail for a moment alone together.

If anything, Herah could take solace in the fact that there wasn’t any time to spare for second-guessing. That, at least, she did not fear. But the needles that Josephine’s tailor used to pin her clothes in the first round of measurements for a new set of formal clothes - those stayed with her for a while.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

On one of the few-and-far-between days when Herah had time to herself, she found her way to the library to hunt down some poetry to read through. Her plan was slowly coming together: she would fill her chambers with flowers and candles and surprise Cassandra by reading her some romantic poetry. It was meant to be a way of asking her officially to begin a kind of courtship, one as formal as being at the head of the Inquisition would allow them both to pursue. The florist had already responded and a shipment of the finest roses  _ and _ lilies was on its way to Skyhold, while a candlemaker awaited her visit in Redcliffe.

In the library, shelves and shelves of books stood from floor to ceiling on an entire floor of the tower. Herah quickly found the “leisure” section, as Helisma called it; but to her dismay, it was a pitiful collection of perhaps two dozen novels and half as many poetry books. She was thumbing through one bound in pale leather and etched with silver when Dorian approached.

“Greetings,” he said, adjusting his grip on the stack of books he carried and nodding at the book in her hand. “I never saw you as a woman to read poetry. Don’t tell me you’ve been talking to Cassandra.”

Herah felt her cheeks turn hot. “Why would you say that?” she demanded. It wasn’t that she wanted to keep their relationship - if it could even be called that yet - secret, but she hadn’t exactly made it  _ public _ either. She wondered if Cassandra had told anyone, and briefly if she  _ should _ have made it public. Was there anything even  _ to _ make public?

Dorian interrupted her train of thought, waving a hand as he spoke. “Oh, Varric was all too pleased to brag about his most adoring fan. I have to say, I was quite surprised - I always pictured her reading  _ Hard in Hightown _ . It’s far better.” Dorian set his books on a nearby table and, with a casual flourish, plucked up the book Herah was skimming. “My, my, Inquisitor, this is  _ sickeningly _ sweet. Whatever would possess you to pick this up?”

She floundered for a moment before deciding two heads were better than one. “You know, it might actually be something you can help with. You’ve read that, I take it?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “I have. It was terrible, which is why I express my concern. What is this help you need? I may have to decline if it’s reading this again.”

Herah smiled. “No, I won’t put you through that if it’s so bad. I need your advice on  _ good _ poetry, something that can be read at a romantic evening.”

His grin started as amused, but quickly turned wicked as he realized she was serious. “Inquisitor,” he murmured, shelving the poetry book. “Dare I ask who you plan to woo - and how?”

“Oh, the usual - candles, flowers, poetry. She’s an idealist.”

“Maker! You  _ have _ been talking to Cassandra! Ha, Bull owes me twenty silver!” He was quick to lower his voice after Helisma glanced at them from across the way. “I mean, ah, of course. Cassandra is the only one that would enjoy that sort of thing, considering her taste in prose. So of course, it’s her.” He chuckled. “I will enjoy a new pair of gloves for this, though.”

Herah stared at him. “I -”

“Yes, yes, no need to be gobsmacked,” Dorian interrupted, leaning against the bookshelf. “You’re wasting your time on these. Not only are they all terrible - some less than others, of course - your dear Seeker has read them all at least twice. The first time willingly, the second begrudgingly because, despite its mediocrity, it’s all we have. But  _ you _ have the power to change that.”

It was getting harder and harder to speak. She couldn’t decide if she was annoyed that he guessed so quickly or grateful that he immediately offered his help - did the whole of Skyhold already know? “Alright,” she said slowly, “so I need to go find more poetry. I don’t suppose there’s a bookseller nearby - that would be easy.”

He barked out another laugh. “I’m afraid you’re right. Clear your schedule, Inquisitor, you and I are going to Ferelden.”

_ Oh, dear… _

That evening, Josephine stared slack-jawed at Herah and Josephine as they told her of their plans to make a quick trip to the Hinterlands. Herah didn’t mention exactly what they sought in Redcliffe, and when she asked, Dorian deflected by claiming it was “confidential, top-priority supplies” that were “crucial to the success of the Inquisition.” The ambassador reminded them that they were scheduled for multiple fittings, briefings, and paperwork sessions, and expressed her exasperation that Cassandra had missed her last fitting. Herah responded by telling Josephine she would have a stern word with her upon their return.

Josephine just looked exhausted by that point, and concluded there would be no stopping them - so they had her blessing to leave, as long as they took a scout, promised to return by two weeks’ time (three if there was trouble), and to send word when they turned back for home. They agreed, both kissing her on the cheek and calling her “Mother Josie.”

Scout Harding joined them on the morning of their departure, looking harried as they mounted up and galloped out of Skyhold’s front gate. When Herah asked what had her looking so frazzled, she only said, “I joined the Inquisition to  _ escape _ fancy clothes, and now Josephine wants me to send for some of my mother’s lace patterns. And I’m the only one that knows how to replicate them.”

Herah laughed. “I hope we aren’t running you off with this business at Halamshiral,” she teased. “We’re going to need you if our lace cuffs end up bloodied.”

“As long as it’s not for making new cuffs.” Harding looked sideways at Herah as they slowed to descend a rocky hill. “This trip must be pretty important. I’m surprised Josephine let you go.”

Shaking her head, Herah shrugged. “I am, too. But I think missing a few hours of tailoring is worth a lecture or two.” Herah hoped the result of her travels would be fruitful, too. That was what would make it all worth it.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

“I must admit, I find myself inspired by your commitment.”

Herah looked up from the book she was skimming. Strewn around her in the remains of the dwarven merchant’s caravan were dozens of other books, schematics, and recipes. Dorian leaned against the upturned cart that Harding was using to mark the location of the wreckage on a map; the merchant had promised them any book they chose in exchange for information on the caravan that fell prey to bandits. Apparently they didn’t find any worth in the books, for there were countless volumes in various states of disarray here.

Dorian nodded at the pile at her feet, continuing, “It’s not every day you find someone willing to risk bandits and rebels to impress the one they care for.”

Harding giggled, not looking up from the map. “I think it’s cute,” she said, tracing her finger along a hunter’s path. “Who would have thought - Herah and  _ Cassandra _ .”

“Oh, I know! I thought the poor Seeker was made of stone.”

Herah rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her blushing smile. “I just want things to go well. I can tell this sort of thing means a lot to her.”

Ever since they departed Skyhold, Herah’s imagination had been running wild with what might happen when she was finally able to compose a romantic evening with Cassandra. She wanted nothing more than to see her happy, to make her feel swept off her feet like the characters in her romance novels. The very thought of Cassandra’s smile sent hear heart fluttering.

Dorian, restless, picked up a book from within the caravan. “Ah, here, Inquisitor.  _ Poems and Lyrics for the Romantically Inclined. _ It’s as if the Maker himself planted it here.”

“Sounds promising. Mind if I -”

A low voice from the woods to their left interrupted her. “Never thought I’d see no Inquisition riflin’ through my loot,” it grumbled, and Herah heard the unmistakable rasp of a sword being pulled from its scabbard. A lone man in ragged leathers slipped out of the shadows.

Harding already had an arrow aimed right at his chest. “One more step,” she warned, pulling the string back a touch more. “Drop the sword.”

Herah drew her own bow. It was unlikely the bandit was alone; in general, they traveled in packs, especially when laying a trap - which they just waltzed right into. “We don’t have to fight,” she said, drawing an arrow anyways to be safe. “What do you want with books, anyway?”

“See that’s somethin’ that gets me hot.” The bandit adjusted his grip on his sword. “You fancy folk up in your castles think we bandits too lowly for readin’. Might be so, but that don’t mean we can’t see coin in ‘em.”

Dorian glanced sideways at Herah. “I don’t think there’s a way to talk him out of here, Inquisitor. A pity.”

The bandit whistled. Four more men melted out of the woods, three armed with daggers or swords and one with a bow. “You’d be about right.”

He dropped the book he’d been holding and drew his staff. “Shall we?”

Despite the skewed numbers, Herah, Dorian, and Harding were able to dispatch the bandits with relative ease. The apparent leader who first appeared proved tougher than his companions, locking into a gritty dagger fight with Harding; but eventually he fell, the others not far behind him. Herah made it out of the fight with a deep gash on her cheek from one sword or another, and a hefty bruise on her leg from one man going down kicking. The other two were ruffled but otherwise unhurt.

“Now I  _ really _ admire your commitment,” Dorian huffed, shoving books into his pack and gesturing for Herah to do the same. “Let us give the merchant his map and be done with the Crossroads for now.”

Perhaps it should have been a little ridiculous, Herah reflected as they made their way to Redcliffe the next day. Perhaps facing bandits and crashed caravans and bad poetry should have been overkill. But Herah just couldn’t find it in her to feel that way. In truth, it was fun - an adventure, a break from fittings and meetings and  _ more _ fittings, Maker, she was so tired of being poked and prodded with needles for an outfit she would probably only wear once. And it would probably get bloodied, if the Masquerade went as they expected. She supposed, though, that she should be grateful Josephine came to the compromise of smuggling in some real armor with the Inquisition’s hidden reinforcements.

As excited as Herah was about the Masquerade before, now she could only feel anxious. Josephine tried to instruct her on the mechanisms of the Great Game whenever she could, and it became clearer with every lesson how much would hang in the balance of a well-placed compliment or a perfectly-timed flirtatious glance. It boggled her mind that the affairs of thousands, mostly those not even involved in the Game aside from being the subjects of those participating, were decided in the way a Duchess curtsied or how a Duke led a dance. It made the weight of the looming event sit heavier and heavier on her shoulders.

The candle shop was a welcome distraction from such gloomy thoughts. The owner worked with a mage to bind incredibly specific scents to her candles, all made of beeswax harvested from hives at a nearby farm. Dorian picked one that smelled of a particular kind of Tevinter tea; Harding found one she swore smelled like her mother baking in her house back at Redcliffe Farms; and Herah found two. One that smelled like a field of flowers in spring, the other like a freshly bound book not yet scribed with ink. The first reminded her of traveling, and the second, well…

_ Of her. _

The candlemaker sent them on their way with the assurance of Inquisition soldiers receiving a discount, and a promise to make a candle that smelled like victory when Corypheus finally fell. Herah and company laughed at that, but none of them missed the desperation and pleading lurking behind the greying woman’s eyes as she and her young son waved at them as they rode away.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> keep an eye out for chapter 12 - though i'm not sure when exactly it will be up, as i have a big competition this weekend. aside from that, hope to see you in the next one! :)


	12. The Ideal Romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya boy is back, and she's bringing the good stuff!

_ Cassandra, _

_ Meet me in my chambers tonight. There are but days until we depart for Halamshiral, and I’d like to steal a few moments together before we have to face the perils of the Great Game. _

_ -H _

The swirling letters of Herah’s own flowing hand floated through Cassandra’s vision for the entire day. When the page brought her the letter she at first felt fear, worried that some ill fate had befallen Herah on her trip to the Hinterlands; but when she read the note through, excitement burst to flame inside her. What was Herah planning? The little heart doodled at the end of the note, before her initial, made Cassandra’s own flutter. It took her ten minutes to recollect herself and get dressed to go about her day.

Despite the warm start, however, the day seemed steadfast in its determination to make her miserable. A cold rain flung itself against Skyhold, soaking through everything in its path - Cassandra at one point grumpily wondered if the stone walls of the castle would turn into sponges under the torrential downpour. The muddied ground made the morning’s training ten times as hard and shortened her temper against the recruits she was drilling, ending their session on the sour note of one spitting at her feet. He had always been bullheaded, but this was the worst she had ever seen him; even the other recruits looked shocked. Cassandra simply ground her teeth and told them to get inside and dry off.

By lunchtime, she had been pestered with so much paperwork and so many questions from the other trainers that she felt like to explode. A moment of quiet came when she sat in the main hall to a steaming bowl of stew and a flagon of hot spiced wine, accompanied by fresh bread and rice. The Iron Bull and Dorian sat together a few seats away, and Varric kept a reasonable distance - peace at last, she reflected, until an apprehensive Josephine joined her halfway through her meal.

“Hello,” Josephine greeted. “I know you have been busy, Seeker, but I am afraid I must bring one more important task to your attention.”

Cassandra sighed, staring down at her rice covered in stew. She had been planning on stealing away to do some reading later, but apparently duty called. “Of course, Josephine,” she said, smiling at her and hoping it didn’t look as half-hearted as it felt. “I have no doubt this is something significant. What do I need to do?”

“After lunch, I need you to report to the tailor in my office. Your final fitting for the Halamshiral uniform is scheduled for this afternoon.”

_ Oh, Maker _ … “Of course it is.” She tried not to sound too disgusted, for she knew how much the Inquisition’s appearance would actually matter at the ball. “I will be there. But I want it to be clear - I would not do this for anyone else.”

Josephine laughed. “I know. Believe me, I know. Now, if I could attach a small… favor to that agreement?” She looked pointedly at Dorian, Bull, and Varric, who either hadn’t noticed Josephine or were pretending not to. “They have managed to avoid me these last few days, but perhaps they will listen to you.”

Cassandra huffed, but couldn’t keep the smile from creeping up on her. “I will see what I can do.”

It took bribing Dorian with a new blade for his staff and Bull with a new eyepatch, and reminding Varric that he owed her after the spectacle with his book, but Cassandra was able to persuade the three to attend their fittings. They would all go together, perhaps to minimize the annoyance of the ordeal with each other’s company; Josephine balked a little when they all walked into her office, but seemed to appreciate they were there at all and sent for the tailor’s assistants while they disrobed and changed into the nearly-finished uniforms.

Despite her misgivings, Cassandra had to admit they were handsome garments: plush red blouses slashed with a wide, blue silk sash and accented with elaborate gold threadwork and shiny onyx buttons. The pants were even a rich velvet, and the matching boots were the most supple, finely crafted pieces of cobbling she had ever seen and fit like a dream.

She couldn’t fathom how the tailor, Ayla, and her assistants maintained their patience. All three of the men squirmed relentlessly, complaining at every accidental needle prick and tug of fabric. Bull tried to flirt with Ayla and, failing that, moved on to who appeared to be her primary apprentice: a handsome dwarf with a long copper beard and striking blue eyes.

“Honestly,” Cassandra huffed as Ayla, another dwarf, adjusted the collar of her shirt. “You three act like children.”

Josephine chimed in from her desk, “She is right. The less you move and whine, the faster this will be done!”

“I could go for some wine,” Varric grumbled, shifting from foot to foot.

“Not around the uniforms!” Ayla chided. She was pretty, Cassandra decided, reminding her a little of Scout Harding in the face. They even shared the same hair color. “Maker, I dread the thought of what these will look like at the end of the night.”

Dorian chuckled. “That’s if some of us can keep it on long enough to make an impression. It  _ has _ been a long time since I went to a real party.”

“Ugh.” Cassandra sighed. “I will be glad to be done with this. Masquerades are never fun - unless one finds the idea of knives being drawn every time you turn your back an enjoyable evening.”

“We all know what kind of enjoyable evening you prefer,” Dorian teased, his eyes glittering insufferably.

Taken aback, she frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Yeah,” Varric said, “what is that supposed to mean?” His smile was curious, mischievous. “It seems only some of us are well-informed around here.”

Dorian and Bull shared a look. “We’re sure you’ll find out later. But I think everyone in this room has noticed you have a certain… favor for our dear Inquisitor.”

Cassandra’s face heated immediately and she glared at Dorian. “That is none of your concern!”

“The Inquisitor!” Varric exclaimed. “I’m impressed. You really aim for the stars, don’t you, Seeker?”

Bull had been quiet for the moment, but chose then to add his comment. “You can’t just leave out the way the Inquisitor looks at Cassandra. I haven’t seen eyes that intense since I got with a Rivaini pirate on the Waking Sea.”

She harrumphed. “This is ridiculous. I will not stand here and be teased like a little girl.” Looking at Bull and Dorian, who weren’t exactly innocent of the same thing themselves, she said, “It is not like I am the only one here with stars in my eyes. You two have been inseparable since the day you met.”

Dorian reddened for a moment and she feared she had gone too far, but he and Bull both burst into laughter that soon spread through the whole room. The rest of the fitting was much of the same - lighthearted, friendly, and a welcome change from the bitter weather outside and the sour day Cassandra had seen so far. It reminded her of just how much she valued her circle of friends within the Inquisition, trying as they could be sometimes; and most of all, it reminded her to be patient. Both with her friends, and with the needle poking her under the arm for another half an hour.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

The sun dipped low behind the walls of Skyhold. The rain stopped just in time to allow the sun to set unhindered by gloomy clouds, casting a heavy golden light over the castle and making it shimmer as if it were encrusted with diamonds. Cassandra paced outside the main hall, butterflies swarming in her belly as she worried. Was it late enough? What if she was early and Herah wasn’t even in her chambers yet?

She was dressed in fine clothes - not fancy, but fine enough to be appropriate for what seemed to be a quiet evening with a woman she admired. Burgundy velvet felt to be the best, paired with dark brown pants and simple dress boots. She was freshly bathed and perfumed, and from Josephine’s own collection - a gift, the ambassador said, for Halamshiral, but she winked when she gave it to her after the day’s fitting.

_ Maker give me strength, _ she prayed, resolving to just go and be done with it. She would see Herah tonight, and that would be enough. The days without her had been empty and almost cold.

The walk up the stairs to Herah’s chambers felt endless, but eventually she was faced with the heavy oak door. When she knocked, the sound echoed too loudly around her ears and she felt faint.

“Come in!” Now it was too late. She opened the door and stepped in, letting it swing softly shut behind her.

Candles burned like stars plucked from the night sky itself all around the room, filling it with the scents of flowers and, somehow, a fresh copy of a book. Actual flowers also decorated the space, blooming in every nook and cranny in every color imaginable. Cassandra wondered at how none of them had caught fire.

Just as she realized Herah was nowhere in sight, her voice drifted in from outside. “‘On aching branch do blossoms grow,’” she said, reading from a book and sauntering closer, “‘the wind a hallowed breath. It carries the scent of honeysuckle, sweet as a lover’s kiss.’”

Cassandra’s mouth fell open in amused shock. She recognized the poem, a sickeningly sweet one, but only gave Herah a playful shove and let her continue her reading.

“‘It brings the promise of more tomorrows, of sighs and whispered bliss.”’ Herah dropped down to one knee, smiling.

“You can’t be serious,” Cassandra murmured, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice.

Herah pouted. “We don’t always have to be serious!”

She stepped forward, cupping her hand around Herah’s warm cheek. “So that is the poem you chose?” She slipped the book from Herah’s grasp, turning away to hide her gleeful smile. “ _ Carmenum di Amatus. _ I thought it was banned... ‘Her lips on mine speak words not voiced, a prayer, which travels down my spine like flames that shatter night. Her eyes reflect the heavens’ stars, the Maker’s light. My body opens, filled and blessed, my spirit there.’” Her voice lowered to a whisper as she read, her heart pounding and her cheeks warm.

“‘Not merely housed in flesh,’” Herah continued, now behind her and with her breath spilling over Cassandra’s shoulder, “‘but brought to life.’” She placed a soft kiss on Cassandra’s ear. “Shall we read another?”

Cassandra let the book fall to the floor as she turned and pulled Herah into a long, hungry kiss. She was so overwhelmed by her gesture of romance that she could hardly contain herself, and the fervor was only intensified by the way Herah wrapped herself tightly around her and deepened the kiss.

When they pulled apart to take a breath, Herah reached up and brushed at a strand of Cassandra’s hair. “This is okay?” she whispered, her green eyes searching her face.

Cassandra smiled. “I would not wish to be anywhere in the world but here.” Then they were kissing again, only this time their hands wandered freely as they wound themselves against each other.

Cassandra’s fingers found the hem of Herah’s shirt and she paused; Herah took the signal and guided her hand under her shirt. The muscles of her abdomen were smooth, and rippled under her touch. Herah moved her lips to her neck, and Cassandra continued her exploration. She was surprised to find that Herah also wore her breast band even out of armor, perhaps for comfort like she did herself. Undoing it in one swift movement, she tossed it to the bed.

Herah gasped when she found her breast and teased her fingers over a firm nipple, then set to unbuttoning her blouse while Cassandra did the same. When Herah was topless she started planting kisses along her shoulder, across her collarbone, and down her chest and stomach - notably easier than to reach than her shoulder. Herah helped her out of her own shirt and breast band, and they migrated to the bed.

“This is still alright?” Herah asked, kissing Cassandra’s hand.

“Of course,” she replied. “And you?”

“Absolutely.”

Herah loved to have her breasts kissed, Cassandra soon found out. As she traced her lips over her warm grey skin, she loosed little sighs and ran a hand through Cassandra’s hair. Eventually Herah returned the favor, gently guiding Cassandra to lie on her back so she could shower her with kisses and little massages. When her hand crept to her pants, she paused again, looking up at Cassandra.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Herah slipped her fingers under Cassandra’s smallclothes and found her, already getting wet. She stroked at her lips before moving to her clit, and Cassandra melted into the mattress with a long, heavy sigh. Herah returned her lips to her breasts, kissing and sucking one nipple and sending Cassandra into a haze. When she glanced down and saw Herah’s other hand pleasuring herself, she thought she might come right then and there.

“I want to taste you,” Herah said, lifting her head from Cassandra’s chest.

“Then taste me,” Cassandra pleaded, her heart dancing behind her ribs.

It was almost agonizing, the way Herah dragged her kisses from breast to belly to thigh, once she pulled Cassandra’s boots and pants off. For the moment she left the smallclothes, opting instead to kneel on the floor and lavish her inner thighs with wet, fevered kisses, until Cassandra moaned and reached down to touch her face.

“Would you really have me beg on our first night together?” she teased, and that was enough.

Herah adjusted herself, at first struggling to find a position that was comfortable for them both; Cassandra laughed when one of her horns poked her in the leg, and she joined her when the initial mortification passed. They finally got it right, Cassandra draping one leg over Herah’s broad shoulder with the other safely out of harm’s way on the bed. Herah placed a few more kisses on her thigh before finally planting her lips between Cassandra’s legs.

_ Maker _ , it had been so long since Cassandra felt this way. As Herah lapped at her, kissing and sucking her clit, she shuddered and moaned low in her throat. Her fingers tangled themselves in Herah’s sleek white hair, which was quickly falling out of its already loose low bun. Already heat rose within her, threatening to spill over especially when Herah slid a finger into her.

“Oh, Herah,” Cassandra purred, thrusting her hips a little. Herah responded by sliding her finger in and out, searching for her sweet spot - and when she did, Cassandra cried out. “Yes! Yes, just there. Oh, Maker -”

It only took a few more seconds of stroking and licking before Cassandra came apart, her entire body on fire. She curled her toes as Herah’s tongue rode her through the orgasm, letting out a deep sigh when it finally subsided. They were both covered in a light sheen of sweat and panting, but when Herah came up to kiss her, Cassandra knew they were far from done. As she tasted herself on Herah’s lips, she undid what remained of her bun and pushed her to where she had been on the bed. She took a moment to see her lover, staring up at her with starry green eyes and a halo of shining white hair, and she could have wept from the beauty of it.

“My turn,” she breathed, and took one last kiss before kneeling at the edge of the bed.

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

Herah had blown out the candles so that only three of the shortest ones burned, dimming the light in her chambers significantly. Cassandra lifted her arm and swept away a strand of her impossibly long hair, smiling as Herah blinked dozily at her. Their legs were tangled together as they lay on the bed, basking in each other’s warmth against the breeze coming through the door to the balcony they forgot to close.

“I could stay like this for an eternity,” Cassandra admitted, intertwining their fingers.

“Why don’t we?” Herah asked, but the way she bit her lip said she knew exactly why.

She kissed Herah’s fingers, one at a time. “They will talk. They will say I am your lover, beside you to the last… Or they will say I am a fanatic, fallen prey to the charms of a woman in power.” She remembered what Ferelden said about Leliana and the Warden, and her chest hurt.

“But that will not change what I say to you.”

“What is that?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And she realized that she had for all this time. “I love you. I may never tire of saying it.”

Herah smiled. “I will never tire of hearing it.”

They lay there for a long time; Cassandra moved so that she was almost entirely enveloped by Herah, listening to her heartbeat. The moon eventually rose and cast her silvery arms into the bedchamber, gilding their skin against the dying golden glow of the stubby candles. Sleep crept softly over them both, wrapping them in darkness until the first light of morning the next day.

Cassandra woke first, opening her eyes to see Herah sleeping peacefully on her back. There were no troubles etched into her beautiful face, only dreams; she sighed in her sleep. Smiling, Cassandra slipped silently out of the bed and found one of Herah’s dressing gowns to wear until she had some of her own clean clothes.

As if on cue, a soft knock came at the door. Glancing back to make sure Herah didn’t wake, she padded across the room and cracked the door open to see a surprised attendant.

“Seeker Pentaghast?” she asked, blushing and lowering her voice when Cassandra motioned for her to quiet down. “Is everything alright?”

“It is,” she whispered. “If you could have a mage bring up a second tub?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Herah called from the bed. “We can either take turns or share. Come back to bed, love.”

Cassandra blushed. “If you could bring me some of my clothes, then? From the armory. Something nice.”

The attendant smiled knowingly. “Of course, my lady. I shall send for breakfast as well. Good morning to you.” She bowed her head and scurried off, still grinning.

Closing the door, she went back to the bed and climbed in, letting Herah pull her against her chest. “I’m sorry to have woken you,” she said, kissing her.

“Nonsense. I would never sleep again if it meant seeing your face.”

Cassandra giggled. “Now you really do sound like someone from my novels.” She snuggled further against Herah. “Thank you. For last night. It was beautiful.”

Herah wrapped her arms around her. “I should do it every night, just for you. The look on your face almost made me cry.”

“Mm. Then it would not be special.”

Attendants soon brought in a large breakfast of bread, fruit, cheese, and even little cakes - Herah admitted she had a sweet tooth - as well as some of Cassandra’s clothes. They ate slowly, savoring the meal, talking about little things like the garden and the library. It felt so natural to Cassandra that she wondered why every day wasn’t like this, wondered where her head had been to keep this secret life from her. There was infinite happiness in the way Herah looked at her over her glass of honeyed milk after sharing some of the gossip she heard down in the courtyard, and in the way Cassandra joked that the Inquisition should invest in Mabari guard dogs to keep the soldiers company on patrol.

After breakfast Herah called for someone to fill the bath, and a mage came up and enchanted the tub to do just that. Herah used some scented oils gifted to her by Vivienne and even scattered some of last night’s flowers in, and chose the sweetest-smelling soap she could find - this one a gift from Dorian, in exchange for her help with repairing his staff while out in the field. They sank into the steaming water together, both sighing as it wrapped them in flowery warmth.

As Cassandra rinsed Herah’s long hair, running her fingers through it to chase out any stray tangles, she asked, “So… would you like to be public about us?”

Herah slipped a hand over her shoulder and Cassandra took it. “I would, but only if you do, too. I know you are a private person.”

She squeezed her hand and returned to her task. “I think if we let it happen naturally… not make an announcement. Just be seen, and leave it at that.”

“I think that’s perfect.”

They spent probably too long in the bath, but to be together in such a way was so warm and heavenly that both of them were reluctant to leave it. When they finally did, they dressed and sat back on the bed; Herah asked Cassandra to brush and oil her hair. She did until it was sleek and shiny, and carefully braided it while Herah looked out the window with drooping eyes.

“I hope you can stay awake today,” Cassandra teased. “We were up awfully late last night.” The memory of how Herah tasted sent heat creeping up her cheeks.

“Oh, I don’t know. We may have to steal away from it all for a nap,” she sighed. “Or more sex. Depending on how the day goes.”

“I would be surprised if we had time to even consider it. I think Josephine wants all the advisors to meet with you so we can discuss Halamshiral.”

“Of course. It couldn’t be a fun meeting, like deciding which cakes to have after supper.”

She laughed. “If only. There. That’s done.”

Herah stood and offered her hand, leading her to the balcony. A sharp wind ruffled their clothes, but the sun kept them both warm as they stood together and watched the castle slowly wake up with them. Down in the training yard, Cullen drilled with soldiers; in the garden, Leliana spoke with Mother Giselle; and in the courtyard, Josephine spoke with several people who appeared to be in charge of supplies. There was apprehension in everyone, as if the entire Inquisition was holding its breath. It was like Halamshiral was a great play, and no one knew which characters would make it till the end.

Cassandra leaned against Herah. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Herah shook her head. “I never am.”

**⭘ ╳ ⭘**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many, many, many apologies for the long wait! between being busy basically every weekend, struggling with some personal stuff, and just not having any motivation, i finally managed to get my shit together a whole month after the last chapter. i promise i'm doing my best! a big, huge, enormous shoutout to RankPup8 for leaving some truly lovely comments and giving me the big push i needed to get back in the groove. you helped more than you know!
> 
> as for the rest of this story, i think the end is nigh. i'm still tweaking the outline and making adjustments, but it looks like i might be able to wrap up soon! i'll probably still write for herah/cassandra because i adore them, though.
> 
> see you in the next one!


End file.
